Little Sunflower
by Terminally Introverted
Summary: When Yao goes to pick up his brother Kiku from his job at the hospital, he gets lost in the psychiatric ward. There, he runs into Ivan- an impatient suspected to have borderline personality disorder. Ivan is instantly infatuated. Yao is asked to visit Ivan as unconventional therapy, and what was supposed to be a job turns to much more.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the second installment of the hospital-verse, my interconnecting series. It is not necessary to read the others to understand this, however.**

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><p>"Do you understand why you're here, Ivan?"<p>

This must have been the fifth time Dr. Matthew Williams had asked that question. How cute. Ivan clasped his hands together in his lap and smiled. He made sure to look into his physiatrist's lovely lavender eyes as he spoke. "I am here because of misunderstanding." It was the truth, and it was the same answer he had given each time he was asked. For whatever reason, Matthew did not seem to understand. That was okay. He seemed young, too young for such a job.

The sweet, fragile Canadian sighed and pushed up his glasses. "Do you remember what happened, exactly?" The way he spoke was so kind and gentle, like a doting mother. This caused Ivan's smile to widen.

"Yes," he said. This was, again, the truth. Ivan could retell the events that lead up to him being walked through the hospital's doors in his sleep. "I was trying to protect my little friends; Raivas, Eduard and Toris." They were such sweet boys. Ivan felt a fond swelling in his chest at the thought of them.

Matthew blinked. "Ivan," he said slowly. "You pulled a knife on them."

Ivan chuckled. It was always so amusing, how people misunderstood. "Is misunderstanding," he said again. "I did this only so they would cooperate. They would not become one with me."

"What does it mean to become one with you, Ivan?"

"Is a saying a use," he said, feeling just slightly embarrassed. Perhaps it was a silly saying, but it had somehow stuck. "It means they allow me to protect them. In return, they do not leave me. Is for the best."

"I see," said Matthew. "But they didn't want this, so you threatened them."

It always baffled Ivan how no one seemed to be able to grasp such a simple concept. His puzzlement was stifled by the cruel accusation that caused his smile to dissipate. "Like I said, misunderstanding." Oh well. All it meant was he needed to explain. It wasn't as if he was not used to it. He tightened his scarf and smiled again. "I did not 'threaten' the boys. I would never hurt them. I only used force so they would listen. Otherwise, they would be in danger."

"I see." Matthew had a habit of saying 'I see' a lot. Silly boy. "I understand you also threatened you own life during this…incident. Do you still feel an urge to harm yourself?"

This truly confused Ivan. He had no idea where such a preposterous idea was coming from. "I never had such an urge. Why would I? I have people I must protect." Then, he realized what was going on. After tightening his scarf again, he explained it to the clueless boy in front of him. "Is misunderstanding."

Minutes later, Matthew dismissed him. Ivan smiled lightly, waved goodbye and started down the hallway towards the room that would soon become his home.

.

Yao had no idea how he had managed to get this lost.

He told his brother Kiku that he would pick him up from the hospital where he worked as a hospice nurse, and he had the _brilliant _idea to say he would find him inside instead of making Kiku locate him in the giant parking lot. He was really regretting that idea now, since he had been wandering around in this monstrous building for what seemed like about five eternities. This hospital in particular had just about every department one could ever think of, and in turn was about the size of three regular hospitals smashed together.

Damn, why did this place seem deserted? It would be nice to see someone that might be able to help him. Yao had little to no idea regarding where he was in the building, though he was vaguely sure he had passed a sign that said 'psychiatric' not too long ago…

There was a soft, gentle voice from behind him. "Hello."

Finally. Maybe whoever this was could help him. Yao spoke while he was in the midst of turning around. "Oh, finally. I seem to be lost-"

His words died in his throat when he saw the man standing there. His soft voice had certainly been misleading. The man towered over him, his shoulders massive and his posture stiff like a statue. His unblinking, violet eyes focused directly on Yao, who had to strain just to meet those eyes with his own. He wore a thick scarf despite it being the middle of June. Yao took an instinctive step back. Something about this just seemed…off.

A moment passed before this man spoke again. "You are lost, _da?_" His words were drowning in his thick accent, likely Russian. Yao could not say he was surprised. This particular hospital prided itself on housing and accommodating nearly every nationality under the sun.

"Um…" Yao had forgotten how to speak. It seemed as though it took ages just to form a simple word. "Yes."

"My name is Ivan." He took a step forward, and Yao felt his heart jump to his throat. "What is yours?"

"Yao," he said and immediately wondered if telling him was a good idea.

The smallest smile played on Ivan's lips. "Yao." He said the name like it was a song; looked out into the distance as if he was remembering. Ivan's gaze finally directed itself back to him. "I think I am glad you are lost, little Yao."

There was definitely something off about this. Yao did not like the way he looked at him. He attempted to straighten his posture and come to his full height, as if he was standing up to a bear. "Look, I should go," he said as sternly as he could.

Before Yao could so much as move, Ivan was directly in front of him, seemingly from nowhere. He grabbed Yao's shoulders before he could dodge his hands. _"Nyet." _His eyes were wide and voice held an edge of trembling desperation. "Do not go. You are very beautiful."

Yao felt a cold panic begin to creep up his spine, seep into his bloodstream and take over every part of him. This man was stronger than him; he could not get away. The realization hit like a fist: Ivan was a psych patient. He was crazy. "Let me go," he said finally. He tried to twist under Ivan's hold, but his grip only tightened. He tried again in a small voice. "Let me go. I need to find my brother."

"Your brother will be fine." Ivan blinked away his frenzy and looked at him like he was a precious gem, a long lost child. "You stay here with me. You are…like little sunflower."

Yao blinked, his thoughts muddled by a strange mixture of terror and confusion. "Sunflower?" he parroted, both confused and disturbed by the nickname. He felt his heartbeat quicken like a startled hummingbird in a cage. What was wrong with this man? What did he want from him? "You don't know me. Why would I stay here with you?"

He almost expected Ivan to be provoked by these harsh words, but he only tilted his head and smiled. "Very simple. You stay because I love you."

The strange, unexpected words sunk in and Yao could only balk at him. "What?" He tried again, unsuccessfully, to tear away from his hold. Never in his life had he found himself in a situation that managed to be this bizarre and this frightening at the same time. He felt an urge to kick, to scream, but he did not know what kind of response that would evoke in Ivan. Without warning, the strange Russian embraced him in a bone-crushing hug. It was too forceful, too tight, Yao could not breathe, only whisper, "Help…"

"Ivan!" The powerfulness of the relief that set in upon hearing this new voice was almost ridiculous. "Ivan, let him go!"

Without even so much as a word in protest, Ivan released his hold on Yao and turned around. "Hello, Matthew." He was calm, much too calm. He acted as if nothing that had just happened actually occurred. "This is Yao. He is beautiful, _da?_"

The person who had just arrived- Matthew, apparently- was dressed professionally in a pressed button-down shirt and slacks. Yao was finally able to breathe again. This man was a doctor. His slight figure and soft voice didn't exactly suggest he could take Ivan, but he could do something. Right? _Right? _

Matthew finally willed away his baffled expression and sighed. "Ivan, please call me Dr. Williams," he said. Then, he directed his attention to Yao. "I'm not sure I recognize you. Do you work here? Only patients and doctors are allowed here without a pass."

Yao saw the window for his escape and took it. He quickly scooted away from the wall, away from Ivan. "No, I apologize," he said. "I'm terribly lost. I need to find my brother, Kiku. He works in hospice and I said I would pick him up."

Matthew smiled. "You certainly are lost. Hospice is in a completely different wing," he said. "I don't have a patient for twenty minutes. I can walk you there."

Ivan, who had been standing in eerie silence, finally spoke again. "I will do it."

Matthew looked up at him, and for a brief moment looked almost as scared as Yao. "Ivan, no. You barely know this building."

"He is my sunflower," said Ivan, his smile falling and his tone slightly confused. As if someone had flipped a switch, his eyes darkened and he took a slow, deliberate step towards Yao. "Do not take him away. He is mine." His voice had flipped from strangely sweet to downright demanding, possibly dropping an octave in the process.

The muscular blonde man walking down the hall might as well have been a guardian angel. Where were all these people five minutes ago? "Ludwig!" said Matthew, much louder than he had been speaking before. "Dr. Beilschmidt, could you walk Ivan back to his room? I'm going to walk Yao to where he needs to be."

Dr. Beilschmidt nodded shortly, walked across the hall and took Ivan by the arm. He may have had Ivan beat in terms of muscle, but definitely not in terms of height. "Come on, Ivan. Leave the man alone." His voice was deep and firm.

Initiated by a rather violent yank of Ivan's arm, they started off in the other direction. Ivan looked back as he walked, then smiled again. "Goodbye, little Yao. I will see you again soon."

The words sounded much more definite than statements like that usually did. Yao felt a sudden chill shoot through his entire body, and he quickly looked away. That was, without a doubt, equally the weirdest and most terrifying thing he had experienced in his entire life. He stood perfectly still for a long moment, and could only whisper. "That was…" He grasped for an appropriate reaction, but found almost nothing suitable. "…unpleasant." Yes, that was the best and only way to describe it.

"My God, I do apologize!" exclaimed Matthew. "I doubt Ivan would have actually done anything to harm you, but this is kind of the reason why this is a private wing."

_Maybe they should up their security. _Yao shook his head as if to clear it. "No, that's quite alright. My fault." He made a mental note to either get a map of this place or have Kiku meet him outside next time. The last thing he needed was a repeat of- well, whatever that had been.

He followed Matthew's lead down the path he supposedly should have taken, and the shock he had been feeling grew less apparent with every step. After about two minutes, Yao finally spoke again. "Can I ask what's…well, wrong with that man?" He knew the question was intrusive, but somehow, he did not care. He just wanted to know.

Matthew turned his head towards him and blinked a few times. "I'm afraid that's confidential." He said it in a way that suggested he had repeated the same words on many occasions, and they had become almost instinctual. He paused for a moment and finally sighed. "To tell you the truth, he just checked in today. We aren't sure. That's really all I should say."

Yao nodded, blinking a few times in an attempt to clear the encounter from his mind. Well, at least he would have a story to tell. "I see." That was the last thing he said. The rest of the walk passed in silence.

Minutes later, they finally passed a sign that said 'hospice.' The front desk sat nearby, and Kiku was standing next to it. Yao breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, after all of that nonsense, he managed to accomplish his original goal. Matthew turned on his heel and waved goodbye. "Sorry again, Yao. I'm glad we could get you here."

Yao shook his head. He had mostly forgotten about the strange Russian man, to the point where the incident was nothing more than a strange, slightly muddled blur in his memory. "No harm done," he said honestly. Matthew continued to walk away, and Yao made his way over to the desk. "Next time, you're meeting me outside," he said to Kiku, an edge of impatience in his voice.

Kiku tilted his head in confusion. "You took a long time." His brow furrowed for a moment, then his eyes shot open as if to understand. "Did something happen? You look a bit frazzled."

"You would not believe what I had to go through to get here," said Yao. Even though he was mostly over what happened, the events played over again in his mind as he explained. "First, I got lost. I took about fifty wrong turns, and I somehow ended up in the psychiatric unit." He still could not believe he had managed to get himself that lost. He felt almost silly. "Anyway, I ran into one of the psych patients. He was about ten feet tall, he kept calling me his sunflower, and then he actually hugged me! I thought I was going to suffocate. It was horrifying."

A shocked silence fell over Kiku. He reeled back, his expression blank as if he could hardly belief it. "Wow," he said finally. "That is…wow. I apologize, Yao. Are you alright?"

Yao almost smiled. Kiku had never managed to break that habit of apologizing for absolutely everything. "Yeah. It wasn't your fault," he said. "But you guys need better security. Or maps."

Kiku nodded. "It is quite a large building," he said. "Thank you for picking me up, by the way."

"No problem," Yao said. "We're going to get dinner still, yes?"

Kiku nodded. "Yes, that sounds great."

With that, they exited the hospital. Although, through the entire car ride and the dinner during which Kiku told him about a patient named Heracles, Yao could not seem to eradicate the Russian's sentimental words from his memory. Yes, it was obvious there was no way he could have meant what he said and the whole situation was strange and disturbing, but one more adjective stubbornly clung to the description.

Exciting.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	2. Chapter 2

Ivan was prepared to wait.

Ever since he first saw _him, _his little sunflower, he knew he would do nothing if not wait for him to return. He would never stop waiting. Not until Yao came back. His image took a pleasant residence in his mind- long hair as black and rich as coal, deep brown eyes that seemed endless, a frame as slender and delicate as a woman's but a firm voice befitting of a young man. Ivan was certain he had never seen anyone so beautiful. Yes, Yao was so beautiful, yet he had left so soon.

Ivan frowned when he remembered him leaving. The poor boy looked so terrified –being lost must have upset him. If only that silly psychiatrist would have let Ivan protect him. Matthew was too small, too fragile to handle such a job. Yao had not actually wanted to leave. Ivan was certain. He was absolutely sure… he tried to smile, but could not find the energy. Instead, he sat down atop the thin sheets of his bed and tightened his scarf.

There was a voice from the other side of the room. "Doing alright, chap?"

Ivan forced a slight smile. It was his new roommate, Arthur. He liked Arthur, so far. _"Da. _I am simply adjusting."

Arthur nodded and sat on his own bed. "This place can take some getting used to. Don't worry too much, though. You'll grow accustomed to it."

The reality of the matter was Ivan had barely even looked around. He had been escorted there that morning, run through a series of tests and formalities, then immediately sent to talk to Matthew, who Ivan was expected to take advice from even though Matthew was clearly still a child. Now that Yao's image was clouding his thoughts, the blank white walls and long corridors were the last thing on his mind. "What is it like here?" asked Ivan finally. He felt a need to fill the silence.

Arthur shrugged. "It's alright. We have some characters in here, I can tell you that much, but they're nice people. Mostly." He crossed his legs and locked his hands together on top of his knee. "The food is dreadful, group therapy can be a pain, and their little rules can be bloody irritating, but other than that it might as well be summer camp." He laughed at that. Ivan chuckled uneasily.

"What are you, how do they say…in for?" asked Ivan. He was genuinely curious.

Arthur laughed again, only this time it sounded humorless. "For no tangible reason. They say I had _breakdown_," he said the word with heavy sarcasm, "but they're wrong." He stopped speaking and his head flicked to either side. Once he was done with that, he sighed in what sounded like resignation. "I know you just got here, but have you by any chance seen my unicorn? The blasted thing is always running off. He's just like the flying mint bunny."

Ivan understood what Arthur was in for. "I have not."

"Bugger," muttered Arthur under his breath. Then, he shrugged. "I'll find him. Anyways, visiting hour is at four. Have you anyone coming in?"

Ivan smiled genuinely, a small spark of happiness bursting through the heavy feeling in his chest. Eduard, Toris, Raivas…he was certain at least one of them would come visit, if not all three of them. His sisters could not visit, since both of them lived in Russia and were likely completely unaware of his whereabouts, but he was sure they would come when they were alerted.

Maybe Yao would come.

The small spark of happiness turned into a flood of bliss as Ivan considered the notion. Yes…his perfect sunflower would return to him. "I believe so," he said, his gaze drifting to the wall in front of him, his hand lifting to his chest. He said his next words under his breath. "Yes. He will visit." He sighed, the weight on his chest lifting, and met Arthur's eyes again. "Do you?"

"No," Arthur said, grimacing. "No, I do not believe so. I've been here for two months and I haven't had one visitor. But that's all right. Who needs 'em!"

Ivan frowned again. That did not sound all right to him, it sounded sad. "Why?"

Arthur blinked. "Why?" he repeated flatly.

Ivan cocked his head slightly and narrowed his eyes in sympathy. "Why do you think no one visits? Is it because you are crazy?"

Arthur's lips parted, but he quickly closed his mouth. He blinked a few times in confusion, almost as if Ivan had reverted back to his mother tongue and said it in Russian. For a brief moment Ivan wondered if his English was overtly flawed. There would be no other reason for Arthur to be upset or confused- all he had done was state a fact, after all. Finally, Arthur said, "I…suppose something like that may play into it." He stood up without warning, mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _I'm not bloody crazy, _and made his way to the front of the room. "I'm going to the commons." With that, he all but slammed the door behind him.

Ivan supposed that Arthur was stranger than he thought. He shrugged to himself. Oh well. He still liked the Briton- for now. He would have to see. The thoughts disappeared like smoke when Ivan glanced at the clock and saw that four o'clock was only about an hour away. He smiled into the empty room. He was prepared to wait forever for his sunflower. Surely he could wait an hour.

.

Surely, someone was coming. Ivan was absolutely positive. He sat in the commons, visitors for others swarming around him, searching for a familiar face. He watched for Eduard, for Toris, for Raivas, and most of all, for his sunflower. Surely they were coming. They had to. They had to…Ivan's hand found their way to his neck, and he pulled at his scarf once more. It was beginning to suffocate him, but he did not mind. He was far too busy watching to notice, anyway.

Despite the symphony of noise around him, the ticking of the clock suddenly became the only sound Ivan could hear. It echoed in his ears like a gunshot every second, shaking him to the core, reminding him of all everyone and everything he would much rather forget. It was enough to drive any man mad. Ivan finally looked up, taking in the faces of those around him. He suddenly hated them all, suddenly wanted each and every one of them to leave, to die, to get out of his sight.

And slowly, they did. The visitors began to trickle out; the patients began to go back to their own rooms. Ivan was torn between being relieved or devastated. But still, he did not lose hope. He continued to watch the door, waiting. He stayed that way until the room grew empty and cold, until the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. His heart jumped to his throat when a figure approached him, and for just a moment, the world burst into color again. Yes, someone had come-

"You do realize this happens everyday, right? It isn't as if this was your last chance."

Oh. Arthur. The fire Ivan had felt died in a mere instant. He looked up momentarily, barely able to make out his silhouette now that the curtains had been drawn. He could see the yellow of his hair outlined by a distant light. Of course he could see the shape of those damn eyebrows. Ivan frowned. These were not the features he wished to see. He wanted to see long black hair, deep brown eyes… He opened his mouth to speak but found he was too exhausted to even form the words. Instead, he simply nodded.

"Lighten up, chap. I'm sure whoever you want to come will turn up eventually."

Eventually. That would never cut it; Ivan could not be sure if he even believed it. Not up to argue or even think about it, he simply nodded again. It was all he had the energy to do. _"Da." _Even though the word sounded weak and far away, he surprised himself when he was able to say it. He had not even meant to.

Arthur held out a hand. "It must have been a long day. Come on now, it's almost time for lights-out."

Ivan would have been grateful for this kindness if he did not feel as though he was a hundred feet underwater. Solely because he thought he lacked the ability to move otherwise, he took Arthur's hand as he stood. Walking back to the room felt like moving through glass, cutting him open with every step. When he reached his bed, he fell asleep almost immediately. Part of him hoped he would not wake up.

.

By the time the warm light filtered through the window the next morning, the events of the previous night felt like nothing more than a distant, obscure memory. Ivan actually chuckled to himself when he thought back to it. He sat up, stretched, and adjusted the scarf he had not taken off. "Good morning, Arthur."

There was a groan from the other side of the room. "Oh, bugger," muttered Arthur, his voice thick with sleep. "Bloody hell…what time is it?"

Ivan glanced at the clock. "Is a bit before seven."

Arthur pulled the covers further over his head. "No," he said. "No, too early."

As if his words had triggered it, there was a harsh pounding at the door. "Breakfast in thirty," said an unfamiliar voice. Arthur groaned again and covered his head with his pillow.

"Showers," he said, now barely audible since he face was pressed against the mattress. "Go now. Before the other people."

Ivan supposed that sounded reasonable. "What about you?"

"I'll go later. Just…just leave me be."

Ivan chuckled again, stood up and headed towards the bathroom. Arthur was right about beating the crowds- the hallway was nearly empty, save for a few members of staff. He smiled at a few, but none of them really smiled back. Ivan was amused. They must have been like his new roommate- not morning people. When he got to the community bathroom, he was surprised to see there was a member of staff standing outside there, too. He smiled anyway. "Good morning."

The orderly did not return the pleasantries. He looked Ivan up and down and then blinked away his startled expression. "You get ten minutes," he said. He threw Ivan another glance, then fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Ivan almost managed to enter the bathroom before he spoke again. "Wait, hold on. Take off the scarf."

Ivan's hands flew to his own neck instinctually. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, then tensed when it registered that we was expected to remove it. "Why?"

The man glared at him, even though he had to look up to do so. "Because it's a risk. We can't leave you alone with anything you can hurt yourself with."

What a ridiculous suggestion. "But, why would I hurt myself with scarf? This does not make sense." Ivan unconsciously balled up section of the fabric in his hand. His pulse sped up, and he could feel it in his throat, his ears.

The man grit his teeth. "Just take the goddamn thing off."

A million different possibilities flew past Ivan's mind in a millisecond. He could have run past him or tried to explain that he simply could not take it off in his presence. He certainly could have beaten this meek little man in a fight. But it was only his second day. Ivan did not want to start anything. So with hands that felt numb, he unwound the scarf from his neck, all but threw it at the orderly, and then immediately wrapped his hands around his bare neck. His face turned a paler white and his heart sped up dangerously in his chest. With the room spinning around him, he could only whisper. "I can go in now?"

The man shot him a suspicious look and shrugged. "Go."

Ivan nodded shorty, feeling more lightheaded by the second, ran through the door and slammed it behind him. He undressed quickly and was grateful that there was no mirror. The water was already running- the staff must shut it on and off. The water was too cold and the pressure was too low, but it still felt like bullets, pounding into him, destroying him. Ivan managed to take the fastest shower of his life. He kept his hands locked to his neck and only moved them when absolutely necessary. Of course he usually took the scarf off the shower, but to give it to someone? They might as well have stolen the blood from his veins.

Once Ivan finished dressing, he opened the door in one frantic motion and held his hand out of the opening. "Scarf," he said. "Give it to me."

What the man mumbled was not clear, but Ivan swore he heard the word 'crazy' somewhere in there. He didn't care. The grip on his lungs finally released when the man handed him the scarf that might as well have been part of his body. He wrapped it around his neck so tightly he almost felt as thought he was being choked, but he did not care about that, either. In fact, he liked the feeling. It was safe. And suddenly, he was calm again. "Thank you."

The orderly blinked, shook his head, and then looked away with a sigh. Ivan paid him no mind. He simply pushed passed him and made his way back to his room. When he got there, the first thing he noticed was what seemed to be chanting. It did not sound like English, or any other language for that matter. It sounded like nonsense. Confused, Ivan knocked on the door. "Arthur?"

The chanting came to an abrupt halt. "Piss off!" shouted Arthur. A second later, the strange, deliberate jumble of sounds continued.

Ivan blinked. "Can I not come in?"

"No! You'll scare them off!"

"Scare…" Ivan just shook his head, incredulous. He supposed he probably did not want to enter the room. Unsure what else he could do, he sighed and walked towards the cafeteria for breakfast. He had been in this place for less then twenty-four hours, yet it already felt like a very long time.

.

After a long, lonely and tasteless breakfast, Ivan found himself sitting in front of Matthew again. He had run through a series of questions Ivan did not understand the purposes of, including things like: _do you feel like hurting yourself? How are you feeling? _Of course Ivan did not feel like hurting himself. What an odd, out of place question. He felt just fine. In fact, he was excited. There was only one thing he wanted to talk about. Matthew was in the middle of a sentence, but Ivan cut him off. "Is Yao not beautiful, Matthew?"  
>"Ivan, call me Doctor…" But Matthew broke off and sighed. He quickly changed the subject. "You're still thinking about that man? Why is that?"<p>

Out of all the absurd questions Ivan had been asked this session, that truly was the most ridiculous. How could he not be thinking about his sunflower? "Of course I am thinking about little sunflower. I love him."

Matthew choked back what was almost a gasp. He stared at Ivan, mouth open in a way that was almost cartoonish until he managed to regain his composure. "You love him," he repeated. Ivan nodded, and Matthew pursed his lips. "Ivan, you met him for all of two minutes. You don't know his last name, or what he does for a living, or even much of his personality."

Ivan chuckled lightly. He did not expect Matthew to understand. He was too young to understand such a thing. But Ivan knew love. Love made your chest swell with emotion, the world around you seem brighter, and everything else feel less significant. Yes, Ivan knew what love was, and this was it. He just shrugged. "I love him."

Matthew stared at him for another moment, then shrugged and turned his attention back to his clipboard. "Okay," he said. "Let's talk about."

Ivan smiled brightly. He was more than willing to talk about little Yao. "Okay."

"When you say you love him, does that mean you want to… what was that phrase you used? Become one with him?"

If it were anyone else, Ivan would have said yes. Yao was certainly small enough to need protecting. Still, Ivan did not feel that same need, that same obligation that he had with his little Baltic friends. Yao may be small, but he seemed independent. Determined. And that was nothing if not interesting. "No, I do not," said Ivan. "I want him to be by my side. Nothing more. Nothing less."

That caught Matthew's attention. He looked up; eyebrows raised, and rested his chin in his hand. "Oh? And why is that?"

Ivan smiled. "Because Yao is perfect," he said. "He is perfect, and he is mine."

"You can't own people, Ivan. He isn't an object."

What a ridiculous idea. "Of course not. He is not an object, but he is mine." Then, Ivan remembered. His eyes narrowed, darkened, and fixated on the boy in front of him. "And you took him from me. You took my sunflower away."

Ivan could not remember what happened next, though he vaguely remembered a needle.

.

By the time Ivan woke up, it was already the afternoon. At first, he was not sure where he was. Arthur was nowhere in sight, so this was not his room. The walls were plain white, so this could not be his home. When he tried to reach for his scarf, he realized he could not physically do it. Ivan actually laughed. How badly had they misunderstood him this time?

Almost immediately after noticing he could not move his arms, he felt the pressure dissipate and heard a click. Then, he was able to again. He looked up to see Matthew looking at him. That boy just seemed perpetually concerned. "Ivan," he said. "Do you remember anything?"

Ivan sat up and tightened his scarf. "Yes, I do," he said. Matthew seemed to visibly relax, but his posture stiffened again when he added, "I remember talking about my sunflower."

Matthew blinked away the tension in his expression. "We'll discuss all that later." He extended a hand and helped Ivan into an upright position, then smiled and took a step back. "Ivan, we're going to put you on a medication regime, okay? Mood stabilizers. You'll feel a lot better once you've been on them for awhile."

"But I feel just fine." Ivan looked down at his wrists and noticed they were bruised. Well, that was certainly odd. He shrugged it off, looked at Matthew again and smiled. "Are you trying to change me, Matthew?"

"I beg your pardon?" Matthew could barely be heard. His face went a shade paler. "The goal here is not to change anyone. We just want you to be healthy."

"Then why must I take these pills?" Ivan had never even heard the term 'mood stabilizer' before. He did not know what they were or what they did. All he knew was he did not like the sound of them. The room around him seemed to drop in temperature without warning. "Is it because I am a bad person?" Once Ivan heard himself say it, nothing else mattered but those words. Yes, that must have been it, just like so many people had told him before, of course, of course, of course… "I do not try to be a bad person Matthew, I-"

"Ivan." Matthew reached out and touched his shoulder. Ivan stopped speaking and the room came into focus again. "No one said anything about being a bad person, okay? That isn't the issue."

Matthew launched into a speech about exactly what these pills were and what they supposedly did, but Ivan found himself tuning it out. He nodded along, offered the occasional polite smile, but he had already made his decision. Soon, Matthew let Ivan go back to his room. He spent the hours that brought the afternoon into the evening thinking about Yao, fantasizing about his return. Before he knew it, it was time for the crazy patients to take their medication. But Ivan was not crazy. When he was given his pills, two noxious blue and white capsules that felt like a loaded gun in his hand, Ivan took them into his mouth obediently. When he got back to his room, he let them roll from under his tongue into his hand, then finally into the vent by his bed. Ivan did not need these pills.

Because Ivan was not crazy.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	3. Chapter 3

When it came to Ivan Braginsky, Matthew was sure about only one thing: He was glad he had been sedated in time.

Ivan was an odd case. The man was practically a tower, but his eyes were kind, his voice was soft, and if one didn't know better, they would think he was a gentle giant. And most of the time that was exactly what Ivan was. But he would not be here if it was that innocent, that simple. There were hidden meanings lurking behind his words, storms thrashing in his violet eyes that he might have not even been aware of himself.

Today's session had proved that. It had been cut short when Ivan suddenly snapped, lurched up from his seat and attempted to bludgeon Matthew with a paperweight, all because he was convinced he had taken his 'little sunflower' away from him. Thankfully, Matthew had quick reflexes and an orderly on the other side of the door armed with a sedative. Hours later when Ivan woke up he was back to his gentle, calm self. He had absolutely no memory of the outburst.

Even though Ivan was a ticking bomb of emotions stronger and perhaps deadlier than earthquakes, Matthew was fairly certain he had never treated someone who _cared _as much as he did. Once the tornado prowling within him screeched to a halt and Ivan came back to himself, all he seemed to care about were the people he- for whatever reason- had vowed to protect… even if the same sediments were never returned. That broke Ivan each and every time, whether it was as simple as not having visitors on his first day at the hospital or as serious as the three young men he thought were his friends saying they never wanted to see him again. Matthew could not even get him to talk about it. Ivan always shrugged the incidents off as 'misunderstandings.' He had always had patients who resisted treatment, sure, but it was far less common to get patients that simply did not understand anything was wrong.

Matthew had dealt with plenty like him before- men with violent tendencies they denied, ones whose emotions dove and rose as abruptly as a roller coaster speeding down a track- but Matthew had never dealt with Ivan. And frankly, he was not sure if he was even ready to. He was at a loss. He suspected Ivan to have borderline personality disorder, but he could not make that diagnosis concrete unless he was able to at least partially understand him. Since Ivan refused to take Matthew seriously, he was beginning to believe that doing that alone would be impossible. Ivan only seemed to care about one person, a person who he had met for less than three minutes, a person Ivan somehow saw as an equal.

And suddenly, Matthew had an idea. It was an inane, senseless idea at worst and unconventional at best, yet it was beginning to feel like the only option.

Before Matthew had time to go back on his decision, he walked to the hospital's cafeteria. To his relief, the person he needed to speak to was there- but that relief turned to sympathy almost immediately. This person was Yao's half brother: Kiku Honda, a hospice nurse. Matthew treated one of his patients, Heracles Karpusi.

Heracles was a terminal heart failure patient who seemed interested in talking about only two things- cats, and Kiku. He had admitted without even batting an eye that he had fallen in love with his nurse, and to Matthew's knowledge, Kiku was still oblivious. Matthew was not sure if that was good thing or a bad thing. The only thing certain about the situation was Heracles's bleak prognosis.

Matthew forcibly separated his emotions from the task of at hand, willed away the last of his nerves and sat down opposite Kiku. "Hello. Are you Kiku?" he asked even though he was already certain.

Kiku looked up from the table. He seemed to break out of a trance, as if he had lost himself to his thoughts. "Yes, I am." He said it politely, but looked confused. "I do not mean to sound rude, but who are you?"

If only Matthew had a dime for each time he had heard that same question. He swore no one at this hospital even knew what he did, regardless of the fact he had been working there for years. He smiled back at Kiku anyway. It was not his fault. He was fairly new, after all. "Doctor Williams, but you can call me Matthew. I'm a therapist in the psychiatric wing," he said. Kiku stared back at him blankly. Matthew was prepared for this. "I treat patients in hospice to help with the feelings they might be having about their situation. One of my patients is Heracles Karpusi."

That was his ticket. It was heartbreaking, the way Kiku's eyes widened and his breath appeared to hitch at the very mention of the man's name. Matthew felt a strong wave of sympathy when he saw his expression change to concern right after, concern he was obviously trying to hide. "Oh," he said, sounding almost breathless. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," said Matthew, though that was only partially true. "I just wanted to meet you. Heracles talks about you quite a bit." And he did. Before Kiku transferred to this hospital, Matthew could barely get two sentences out of Heracles during a session and he was lucky if they were not both about cats. After the fact, he could go on about Kiku the entire time.

The next five minutes passed with Matthew asking about Heracles, another patient he was having trouble figuring out. He had never met a terminally ill patient with the same sense of apathy. It was as if Heracles did not even care that he would not make it another year. Still, it shamed Matthew to admit even to himself that he was using Heracles as an excuse to get to Kiku, and he was only using Kiku to get to Yao. This was a mess, but there was a method to this madness. Hopefully. Once the conversation about Heracles ended, Matthew said, "There was actually one more reason I wanted to speak with you." He tried to say it as casually as possible, as if this was an afterthought rather than the premeditated purpose. "Yao is your brother, correct?"

"Yes." Kiku paused as though to let the situation sink in, then his eyebrows shot up. "Did something happen with him?" His usually emotionless voice held a strain of what was almost panic.

"No. Nothing is wrong with Yao," said Matthew. Yes, nothing was wrong with Yao, and that was exactly what he needed. He wrote his office number on a napkin and slid it across the table. "I just think there's a patient here he would like to visit. Could you give him this and ask him to call me, please?" This was a stretch if not an outright lie. Matthew doubted severely that Yao would 'like to visit' Ivan after being cornered and nearly suffocated by him days before, but Matthew needed to try.

Kiku looked perplexed, but he took the number and agreed anyway. The conversation wrapped up, and after wishing Kiku luck with Heracles that he knew he would need, Matthew retreated to his office. Maybe he was the one who needed luck.

.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!"

"Yao, I know this sounds strange, but if you would just allow me to explain-"

"Strange? This does not sound _strange, _Dr. Williams, it sounds like a death wish. Why on earth are you asking me this? I do not even know the man!"

Matthew sighed into the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had expected this. Of course Yao was not jumping on the idea of coming to the hospital to talk with Ivan. Who would be, after the first impression he had? He could already tell Yao would be far too proud to admit it, but it was clear he was scared of Ivan. Matthew didn't blame him. He was scared of Ivan too, no matter how unprofessional it was. The majority of the orderlies were scared of Ivan, his roommate probably was too, and so were the men he called his friends prior to checking in. Still, he needed to at least try this approach. He did not know what else to do.

"I assure you, it's completely safe." Matthew had to make a great effort to sound ten times as comfortable and confident as he actually was. "Our staff is trained to handle any incident that might arise."

Yao sighed as if to release his partial anger. "I still do not understand," he said, calmer this time. "Why me? He met me for two minutes. A very intense two minutes, yes, but two minutes all the same."

"You had a very interesting effect on him." Matthew thought back to their session that morning. Thankfully, this one did not end in violence. Again, all Ivan would talk about was Yao. When he was, his entire demeanor seemed lighter. He was calm. That was not the case when Matthew tried to ask about his family. Ivan always changed the subject immediately. "Ivan seems to see a lot of people as being beneath him. He wants to protect everyone. But he sees you as an equal, and I would like to explore that."

There was a long pause. When Yao finally spoke, he said every word as if it was its own sentence. "I met him for two minutes."

"I know." It wasn't as if Matthew could make sense of it either. He had no idea why Ivan spoke about some guy he ran into in a hallway one time like a long lost love. His best guess was that Ivan loved the _idea _of Yao, but with him, he could never really be sure. All he knew was he had a job to do, he was stuck, and there was a possibility that Yao could get him unstuck. "I'm sorry. I don't understand it either, but I could really use your help. You would be paid, and I can guarantee nothing will happen to you. This is pretty much my last option, Yao."

There was a heavy silence, as if Yao was actually considering it. It was broken when he let out a sound between a groan and a sigh of resignation. "Fine," he said. "I still think it's incredibly strange, but if you need me that badly, I will do it."

Matthew was not sure whether he should be relived, grateful or terrified. He didn't even know what he was expecting out of this. The outcome could either be exactly what he needed or so disastrous he would be laughed right out of the field. Pushing that aside, he said, "Thank you, Yao. Can you come in a week from now?"

"Alright. One condition."

If anything, it was surprising that he had only _one _condition. "Of course."

"Do not tell my brother."

"Oh. Well, alright." Matthew wasn't entirely sure why he would why to keep it hidden, but he supposed it was not his place to ask. "I can do that."

"Good," said Yao. "I will see you next week."

"Right. Goodbye, then." Matthew ended the call, and for a long moment after he only stared at the phone. What on earth had he just gotten all of them into?

.

Ivan was not sure if he would ever get used to this. It had been less than a week, and he did not see how he could get used to having his scarf taken from him or the agitation it caused. He did not even want to get used to the horrendous food, or the frustrating therapy visits, or the way Arthur would wake him up in the middle of the night when he decided to chant into the floor for what seemed like hours. Everything felt empty, numb. There was no escape. It was as though he had been shot to another planet, a planet void of color where insanity was more normal than sanity. At least he had grown to be quite skilled at finding ways to avoid taking pills as well as tricking the staff into thinking he had.

Just when Ivan thought he had seen the worst of it, _he _came in.

The first thing he noticed was the shouting. He and Arthur had been sitting in their respective beds, minutes from calling it a day when there they heard sudden shouting loud enough to break the sound barrier coming from the main hallway. Arthur happened to be coherent right then, so he was the first to speak. "What in the bloody hell is that?"

The shouting was not in English, and it was not stopping. Moments after it started, a slur of other voices and what sounded like something crashing accompanied it. Ivan stood up wordlessly, more curious than anything. "I will go look."

"I'm not sure if that's the brightest idea."

Ivan ignored Arthur's warning and opened the door. He ignored the orderly that demanded he go back to his room as well, pushed past him and followed the jumble of words- likely German- to the end of the corridor. What he came across was… amusing. A man with a shock of nearly white hair and eyes that looked red in the harsh lightening was struggling against the hold of several members of staff, screaming incoherently, flailing like he was possessed. Matthew was standing shell-shocked, eyes glued to the scene in front of him while the man next to him seemed to be attempting to translate. Two young men were speaking rapidly to each other a good distance away. They both looked as though they had been well dressed at one point, but now their clothes with askew and dirty.

There were a variety of spectators. Doctors and nurses from other departments, patients that seemed to come from nowhere- they all dropped what they were doing solely to watch this strange albino nearly succeed in fighting off the four men who had a grip on him. Life itself seemed to stop in its tracks. Ivan spoke no German, but he was able to make sense of one word the man shouted on constant repeat- _Preußen. _Prussia. Ivan had to press his fist to his mouth to suppress his laughter. This man was crazy!

Matthew must have noticed his laughter. He glanced backwards, did a double take and finally made a flippant motion with his hand. "Ivan, everything is fine. Go back."

"This does not seem fine," said Ivan, mostly to himself. It was too loud to be heard, anyway. He watched in outright fascination as Matthew attempted to reason with the man only to be shoved away by another member of staff, who stuck the man with a needle. Matthew looked away. Ivan expected as much. He tried to act professional, but in reality, he acted so, so young. Once the fire in the man's eyes diminished and his body went limp, everything was suddenly calm. Ivan locked eyes with Matthew. "Who is he?"

Matthew actually glared. Ivan had been under the impression that he was incapable of glaring. "Your new roommate, probably," he said. While the man was taken away, Matthew rushed off to speak to the two terrified looking men near the entrance.

Ivan did not like the sound of that at all. He already had Arthur and his chanting to deal with, and now he would have to deal with this one? It really was like living on a different planet. Ivan laughed once more and headed back to his room. He was sure he was the only sane one left.

.

Matthew had not been kidding. The morning after the insane German man blew into the hospital like a rouge tornado, Ivan returned from his nerve-wrecking shower to see him occupying the spare bed. This time, his demeanor was more befitting of a light breeze. He was lying down, knees curled close to his chest, staring at the wall as if it were interesting. "Excuse me, but what are you doing here?" said Ivan.

The man rolled over and looked up. "Oh," he said. "Hey. My name is Gilbert."

"Gilbert." Ivan did not like the way the word felt on his lips. "You are the crazy one, _da?_ The one who caused such a disturbance?"

For a moment, Gilbert actually looked confused. Then, his expression changed to one of annoyance. "Look, I don't even know how I got here, alright? That was all him. Not me. I can't control the shit he does."

Ivan blinked. He had grown accustomed to being around insanity, but this was definitely new. "I do not understand," he said. "You are the same German who-"

_"__Prussian," _said Gilbert immediately. "I'm not German." His voice was almost strained and his face had grown tense. He ran his fingernails down the pale skin of his arm, leaving faint red marks in their wake.

"Prussia has not existed for a very long time."

Gilbert swallowed hard and ran a hand frantically, almost violently through his hair. "Anyway," he said, a suspicious shaking in his voice, "that wasn't me. I'm… dissociative. Look, I just met you, I don't want to get into this." His voice dropped off near the end of the sentence.

Ivan was no closer to understanding, and frankly, he was beginning to feel annoyed. He supposed Gilbert was crazier than he thought. "But you are the same German who-"

"I'm _Prussian, _you useless communist!" Gilbert had gone from nearly whispering to screaming. He jerked into a standing position, his eyes wild, and took a deliberate step towards Ivan with bared teeth. Ivan was actually shocked. He seemed like a completely different person than he was just moments ago. "I'm the goddamn King!"

"The King?" All Ivan could do was repeat it.

Gilbert smirked and gave a short, strangled laugh. He brought his hand to his chest triumphantly. "I'm the King of Prussia. I'm awesome, and you're just a _Russian. _You're nothing compared to me." His smile fizzled and died. Then, he jerked his arm forward and grabbed hold of the end of Ivan's scarf.

Ivan felt a cold, sudden panic hit like a fist. "Stop." He tried to twist away, but Gilbert just tightened his grip. "Gilbert-"

"I'm not Gilbert!" He yanked the end of the scarf, nearly causing it to unravel. Ivan stopped breathing. "I'm the King, communist! Address me as such!" His accent was getting thicker, less pronounced, he was screaming, whispering, speaking in English, German, Russian. Ivan could not even tell and he did not care.

"Yes," said Ivan, still confused but hardly caring. "You are the king." He felt shame almost immediately. Why was he allowing this boy to push him around? Right then, however, it hardly mattered. All that mattered was getting out of this room.

"Good." Gilbert- or The King, Ivan didn't even know anymore- finally let go of the scarf. After shooting Ivan one last glare, he just about leapt back into bed and wrenched the covers over his head.

Ivan decided he did not like Gilbert. No, he did not like him at all, but he was not afraid of him. He absolutely refused to be afraid of a senseless, crazy boy nearly half his size. He refused, he refused…so why was his heart still pounding? Ivan let his hands wander to his neck and tightened the scarf with one spastic, hard pull. He forced himself to feel nothing, nothing but familiar emptiness, and walked out of the room.

.

It seemed as though every time Ivan thought he found his least favorite thing about this hospital, he was always presented with something worse. First, he thought it was the orderly that took his scarf. Then, he thought it was Arthur's chanting. Recently, he was beyond positive the worst thing about the place was Gilbert. It seemed as though not an hour could go past without them crossing each other. Still, Ivan was wrong. The worst part was the group therapy.

The first thing Ivan noticed was the variety of emotions being expressed at once. Gilbert was no longer glaring or demanding to be addressed as royalty, but rather staring at his shoes and absently leaving scratch marks on his arm. Arthur sat with his legs crossed, a haughty expression on his face as if he was too good for any of them. The rest of the people Ivan did not recognize. Their expressions ranged from terrified to bored to strangely, manically happy. Matthew glanced around the circle with a slight smile he probably thought was encouraging.

"Hello everyone," said Matthew. His voice was even gentler than normal, something Ivan hardly thought was possible beforehand. "We have some newcomers this time around." He gestured to both Ivan and Gilbert- who had opted to sit as far away from each other as physically possible. Ivan tried to shrink down in his seat. He didn't want these crazy people looking at him, ogling at him like he was one of them.

One of the happier looking patients laughed wildly. "Hell, wasn't that obvious? You two had the most dramatic entrances we've seen in ages!"

"Mathias," said Matthew. "We don't need to bring that up. You are expected to be supportive." Mathias just scoffed indignantly.

Ivan studied this 'Mathias' for a moment. His bright grin, wild, windswept hair, the way he sat with his legs spread and his arms behind his head as if he owned the place- Ivan already did not like him. Still, he stayed quiet. Matthew broke the silence. "How has everyone's week been? Is there anything anyone would like to share?"

"Well, I felt pretty shitty a couple days ago, but I feel just fantastic now," said Mathias, his words quick and disjointed. "I don't care what anyone says. Mania is fantastic. You know I'm going to do? I'm going to write a book. The second this is over, that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Matthew held out his hand, stopping him. "We can discuss that later," he said. Mathias shrugged. "Anyone else?"

"Still no valid reason why I'm here," mumbled Arthur. "I haven't hallucinated in ages. My behaviors are under control."

Ivan looked at him incredulously. "Then what were you doing earlier? Why were you shouting at floor?"

Arthur shot back a look of horror and scoffed. "I beg your pardon?" he said, his face turning a strange shade of red out of either humiliation or rage or both. "I was doing nothing of the sort!"

Ivan smiled, feeling sympathetic. Poor Arthur. Crazy, nonsensical, frustrating Arthur. _"Da. _You were."

Matthew's eyes darted back and forth between the two. "Guys, we're not here to debate who was doing what, okay? We can work on combating problematic behaviors in one on one sessions."

"To hell with the one on ones! I want to write my book!" said Mathias suddenly. "It's going to be about Vikings! Hey, you know what I haven't had for a long time? A drink. I need a goddamn drink."

"Mathias, drinking would make your depressive symptoms worse."

"What depressive symptoms? I feel fantastic! I want to call Lukas and tell him." Then, Mathias launched into a rambling, disjointed rant that switched focus between his Norwegian boyfriend and the nights he spent drinking. Ivan realized about halfway through his chatter that he missed his vodka. God knows he would need it to these people. For the most part after that, Ivan did not pay attention to his ranting. It didn't even make any sense. Still, he could not prevent himself from reaching a conclusion about Mathias's life. No matter how strange he was, this boy was loved. He had friends. He had visitors. And that was completely unfair.

He let his eyes wander to Mathias's direction, smiling slightly to hide the disgusting jealousy and growing frustration boiling over in his blood. Finally, he cut him off. "You are a strange, aggravating boy." After he said it, Mathias stopped speaking. Still not completely satisfied, Ivan said, "You should learn to keep your mouth shut. You sound, how do they say… insane."

Matthew closed his eyes. "Ivan…"

Gilbert, who had spent the session staring blankly at the floor, finally lifted his head. "You're one to talk, Ivan." His hand continued to run up and down his arm, leaving patterns of red lines. "You're the one who waits hours everyday for someone who never comes. What did you call him? Sunflower?"

Ivan felt a bomb go off somewhere in his body. How had he heard? More importantly, who was this man to speak about Yao? Yao was Ivan's. His blood turned to fire, and it took all he had not to lose himself. No. No, he would not allow Gilbert to get to him. Not again. He quickly realized he knew exactly how to stop this. "I would watch what you say…" Ivan broke off, lowered his eyelids. "German."

Gilbert straightened his posture. His face turned a shade paler, somehow. "Excuse me?" He visibly held himself back, scratching harder, leaving angrier and angrier marks. He finally shook his head as if to clear it. _"Gott, _why do you try and start shit with everyone you see? No wonder no one visits you."

Torrents of emotion twisted beneath Ivan's skin, ripping him apart and warping his being. Anger swirled in the emptiness; familiar feelings he refused to acknowledge refused to be squashed down. No, he had not been abandoned. Yes, he had. Yes, no, yes, no… Every inch of his body suddenly hurt. He fought to keep his smile, but he would not allow himself to lose the battle. "You are insane." Ivan cursed himself under his breath when his voice grew dangerously close to strained. "You are an insane, childish _German." _

Gilbert's hand fell from his arm, his eyes narrowed, and he stood up so frantically he knocked over his chair in the process. "You want to fucking fight, commie?!"

The grip on Ivan's lungs released. He had broken Gilbert. He had won, and he could relax. On the other side of the circle, Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose and waved his free hand dismissively. "Okay," he said. "I think we're done for today."

* * *

><p><em>Heracles and Kiku's side of the story can be found in "In Another Life," which is currently publishing. Gilbert and his relationship with a certain therapist will be the focus of "The King and I," which is currently in the works. :) <em>

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Yao's legs felt entirely too unsteady as exited his car and stood in the hospital parking lot. For a long moment he just stared at the building, wondering why he was subjecting himself to this. Maybe he belonged here too, considering he was entirely certain he had lost his mind. Still, it was too late to go back. He had made a commitment, and dammit, he refused to admit he was afraid.

Of course he was not afraid, but the long walk to the psychiatric unit felt like one to the guillotine. He kept himself occupied through navigating the twisting hallways, making sure to avoid the hospice unit and convincing himself this was no big deal all at the same time. He succeeded in all but the last. Before he had time to register the situation and long before he was ready for it, he found himself knocking on Matthew's office door. Thankfully, the hallway was vacant of patients this time around.

Matthew opened the door with a smile, but Yao was not easily fooled. He could see that faint stich of apprehension behind his wire frames. Matthew was obviously nervous, though he was just as obviously trying to hide it. That was less than reassuring. Yao tried to ignore the nearly overpowering urge to break off in a run. Instead he said, "Good afternoon, Dr. Williams," as if this was completely normal.

"Afternoon, Yao." Matthew ushered him through the door and shut it behind him. "Thank you again for coming. I know how bizarre this is."

Did he really know? Yao nodded anyway. He let his eyes drift about the office, searching for a distraction when a sudden thought entered his mind and passed his lips almost simultaneously. "Does he know?"

Matthew met his gaze, his lips slightly parted. "No," he said. Yao was not sure whether to be more or less anxious. "Ivan doesn't know."

"Ah." Yao told himself again that this would be more of an annoyance than anything. After all, they would not be alone. In a place like this, it was impossible. "What will I be doing, exactly?"

"All you have to do is talk to him. The goal is to get Ivan to open up."

Yao just nodded, still somewhat confused and skeptical but unwilling to express it. He supposed that sounded reasonable. It had to. "Alright." He glanced towards the office door, only able to wonder what awaited him right down the hall. "Should I go, then?"

"I'll walk you there." Matthew went to the door and opened it, but hesitated before he took a step outside. He glanced over his shoulder, and it was not until then that Yao realized he had frozen in place. He forced himself to meet his gaze anyway, but Matthew seemed to see right through his stoic expression. "Are you sure about this, Yao?"

Of course Yao was not sure. This was insane. "Yes, I am sure." …But that apparently did not matter, because this- whatever it was- was happening.

The walk to what was supposedly the common area was far too long and much too short at the same time. Yao felt his stomach flip over and over on itself with every step he took, but he still refused to admit to himself that he was afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of, absolutely nothing. How ridiculous to be feeling this way. However these rational thoughts did nothing to stop the flurry of irrational ones, and Yao could not stop himself from biting down on his inner cheek when Matthew's voice broke the silence. "Ivan, you have a visitor."

And that was when he saw him. Despite thinking those two minutes of insanity weeks ago was the last time they would ever cross paths, Yao somehow found himself staring straight at the Russian for the second time. Ivan was sitting on the sofa, seemingly occupied by toying with that same scarf. Funny… Yao remembered him as much more intimidating. Then, Ivan looked up. When Yao caught sight of those same unmistakable violet eyes and realized they were locked on him and nothing else, he realized he had remembered correctly.

"Yao." Ivan spoke softly, too softly. He stood up as if his legs were unsteady, his face softening in light shock. "My sunflower." When he smiled, he looked as though he was fighting back tears. Yao straightened his back and stayed completely still. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a man looking through strands of white hair to stare at him incredulously, as if Yao was an urban legend come to life. The man with the monstrous eyebrows a few feet away carried a similar expression.

Once he got over being stared at, Yao was surprised at how calm the place was. At least part of him had expected mass hysteria, patients in various stages of breakdowns rocking in corners, and incoherent screaming. A small, childish part of him had almost expected to see at least one straightjacket. Instead, a saw patients visiting with family members, friends and significant others, most looking fairly calm. While some of them looked troubled, for the most part they just appeared to be normal people. Yao almost felt ashamed for expecting anything different.

Matthew must have noticed the disturbance this was apparently causing. He glanced at Ivan, who was still standing motionless like he entranced, then back at Yao, who felt as if the very ground beneath him was threatening to split. "Why don't we step out?"

They ended up back in Matthew's office. Ivan kept his distance, surprisingly, but Yao could still feel his eyes on him. It was a slightly unnerving, conscious fact that he tried and failed to ignore. He settled on pretending he didn't see. "I'll be outside," said Matthew. He looked directly at Yao as he spoke. The moment he stepped out and closed the door, Yao suddenly became hyperaware that he was now- to some extent- alone with Ivan.

What was there to say? Yao instantly forgot everything Matthew had told him and perhaps the entire English language. He only remembered when Ivan took a step forward and realized he was probably going to hug him again. Yao took a quick, instinctive step backwards and held up his hands. "Don't."

Surprisingly, Ivan complied. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled in that same innocent, unassuming way. "You came back, Yao," he said. "I knew you would. Eventually."

Yao did not trust his legs, so he sat stiffly on the arm of the sofa. "Is that so?" Silence. He glanced at a nearby clock and saw with a jolt that less than two minutes had passed. If he didn't know any better, he would have said time had stopped in its tracks. A million questions spun in his mind. What was there to say? What was he supposed to do? And most prominently- why the hell did he agree to this? Having given up on finding answers to any of those questions, he could think of only one thing to say. "How have you been doing?"

Ivan sat on the other side of the sofa, uncharacteristically keeping his distance. "The past does not matter." He wrapped his hand around the fabric of his scarf and pulled. "You are here. That means I am fine."

Yao could not even pretend that he understood. "Why?" He said it without considering the consequences, without even knowing what kind of answer he expected or wanted. He knew that, yet he kept going anyway. "You do not know me. We have no history. We have barely even spoken. Why would I mean anything to you?"

The clocked ticked too loudly and too slowly. Yao's mouth went dry, and he could only continue to stare though every reasonable part of him told him not to. He could not be sure if it was unnerving or comforting that Ivan kept smiling. "With some people, one can simply tell," said Ivan finally. "Do you know why I call you sunflower, Yao?"

"No. I find it rather strange, actually." Yao did not feel nearly as confident as he spoke. Feigning it was all he could think to do.

"In Russia, is quite cold." Ivan held eye contact like he was afraid to drop it. His eyes were such an unusual color that Yao didn't think to look away. His silver-blonde hair brushed his brow when he tipped his head to the side. "Sunflowers can only bloom in warm weather. They signal the end of long, frigid winter. When I saw you, that is what it felt like. The end of a very long, cold time."

Yao suddenly felt a lot colder himself. He crossed his arms over his chest to hide the trembling of his hands. This was like living in an alternate reality. "That is a lot to say about someone you just met."

Ivan laughed lightly. "You keep saying that," he said. "If this bothers you, please allow me to get to know you."

Maybe Yao really was going crazy; because his first thought was that he would not mind that at all. In spite of himself, he was utterly intrigued. "Alright." No matter how intrigued he was, his instincts were telling him to approach this with absolute care. He kept the details as basic as he could. "My full name is Yao Wang. I have a half-brother named Kiku, and he works here as a hospice nurse. I own a restaurant."

"That is lovely. I am sure it is a very nice restaurant." The way Ivan said it was not unnerving. If anything, he sounded genuinely interested. He sounded… normal. Slowly, Yao uncrossed his arms, hesitantly hanging onto to each word. "I am from Russia. This is where my two sisters live. They are Katyusha and Natalia." He paused as if unsure if he should continue. "I also own a business."

Yao could not say he wasn't surprised. He had never really considered that Ivan had a life before this. Of course he must have and Yao had only just met him, but it had never crossed his mind. The realization that should have been obvious hit like a brick: Ivan was a person. He was just as human as anyone else. "What kind of business?"

This visit was full of the unexpected even if Yao had not known what to expect, but he still managed to be surprised yet again when he saw Ivan actually blush. "You may think it is silly," he said. "It is a flower business. I am, how you say, a florist?"

And there was the surprise again. Yao only blinked. "You're kidding."

"No, I am quite serious. That is why I moved here."

The image of Ivan handling delicate followers was nothing if not odd. Yet the more Yao thought about it, the more endearing the thought became. He almost smiled, but he did not allow himself to. Instead he reminded himself to keep his guard up. This still felt dangerous- at least, it should. "You must really like… flowers."

Ivan's eyes lit up. "_Da. _Sunflowers are my favorite. That is why I call you one, Yao. You are my favorite sunflower."

Yep, keeping his guard up was a good idea. Yao tensed, trying to decide whether he should tell him to stop saying things like that or ignore it entirely. He decided it would be easier to go with the latter.

"You seem nervous, little Yao."

Maybe he would not be able to ignore it entirely. Yao forced himself to meet Ivan's strong gaze again. Ivan had not looked away once. "Please, do not call me little. I'm thirty-two." He chose to ignore Ivan's statement that he looked nervous, because he did not want to admit that he was.

Ivan's eyebrows shot up. "You are thirty? Really?" he asked. Yao nodded. Was it really that surprising? "I would not have guessed this. I am twenty-six."

And just like that, Yao felt like an old man. The first thing he did was run through a quick calculation before concluding that Ivan was six years younger than him. The second that passed through his mind, he asked himself why it mattered. "I thought you were older," he said, even though he hadn't even thought about Ivan's age. After all, Yao could barely meet his eyes without straining his neck when they were standing. He hardly thought of himself as the older one.

"I thought you were younger." Ivan smiled, and without warning he took Yao's hand as if to examine it. Yao did not think to pull away. He froze. "Age does not matter. You are beautiful."

"Um, thanks." Yao felt an embarrassed flush rise from his collar. He had never been spoken to quite like this, and now that he was, the words were coming from an unstable psych patient who nicknamed him after a flower. As if that wasn't enough, he actually felt flustered over it. What had his life become?

There was a break in conversation. Yao did not know what else to say. As if it had been timed, there was a knock at the door. Yao quickly realized Ivan was still holding his hand and pulled it away with incredible force and speed. "Yes?" He nearly shouted it, and his voice cracked. Wonderful.

"Ivan, you need to take your medication." Matthew's timid voice was unmistakable.

Yao glanced at Ivan, and his breath hitched when he noticed his expression. His eyes had darkened and his mouth had gone from housing a gentle smile to a tight frown. "Oh." Ivan reached for his scarf again, and he seemed to tighten it with far more force than necessary. "Allow me to say goodbye." It did not sound like a request as much as it sounded like a demand. Yao felt a chill shook down his back.

"Okay, no problem," said Matthew. If it was possible for him to get any quieter, he did.

Yao rose slowly to his feet. With a newfound energy, Ivan jumped up, took a step forward and grasped his shoulders. "You will come back," he said, his eyes suddenly wild. "Yes?"

"Um…" Yao felt exactly how he did when they had first run into each other. Just when he thought he would be able to relax, he was terrified again. "Yes. I will." He was unsure if he actually wanted to come back, but he did not want to know what would have happened if he had said no.

"Okay. You will come back." His words wavered unnaturally in volume, his eyes were bleary, and his laugh was quick and robotic. No matter how scared Yao was, he knew he was not as scared as Ivan suddenly looked. The idea that he was calm just moments ago somehow made everything more frightening. "I do not want you to leave, my little sunflower. I love you."

Yao's blood ran cold and his chest tightened. "No, you don't." He regretted it almost before he said it. He started to feel faint, because he had no idea what he had just done, why he had said what he did, or what it would cause.

Ivan narrowed his eyes, and Yao felt his hands dig deeper into his shoulders. "What?"

"I mean," said Yao quickly, grasping for the right words. "You still do not know me very well. You can't love someone you just met." Ivan continued to stare, smiling, though the look in his eyes did not fit it. Yao continued to speak without stopping to think, desperate to talk his way out of whatever this was. "For now, we are friends. If you want to be my friend, you can't say things like that."

He must have said the right thing, because both Ivan's grip and the look in his eyes softened simultaneously. "Friends," he said quietly. "Okay, little Yao." He stopped speaking abruptly. "I mean, just Yao. You do not like the 'little.'" He laughed, but it sounded almost manic and his line of sight did not move. Yao would have run if his legs didn't feel so weak. "I will say whatever you want me to. As long as you come back."

"Alright." Yao took a careful step backwards, separating himself from Ivan's strong hands. "You should go take that medication."

The corner of Ivan's eye seemed to twitch at the word, but his smile did not fall this time. "Goodbye, Yao. I will see you soon." Just like it had the first time, the statement sounded far more definite and commanding than it probably should have. He hesitated for a long moment, eyes still locked on Yao, before slowly walking towards the door. He smiled over his shoulder once more before finally walking out. Yao was certain he should have felt nothing but relief, and a large part of him did. But for a split second a small, strange part of him that he refused to acknowledge felt… melancholic. Yao shook out the thought as soon as it registered. Of course he was relived!

Matthew entered the room and closed the door a second later. "How did it go?"

"It was fine, actually." Yao was surprised when he realized his response was accurate. Save for that strange moment at the end, it _was _fine.

"I'm happy to hear that." Matthew walked in and sat down on the cushy office chair near the desk. "Would it be alright with you if we discussed what you two talked about?"

Yao quickly remembered that this had been the purpose of the visit all along. He was being used as a middleman. "Oh, yes, of course." He stopped speaking and waited for a response only to realize that Matthew was, in fact, waiting for him. Yao rushed to make sense of the conversation and finally said, "I figured out why he calls me sunflower."

"Oh, alright." Matthew blinked and pushed his glasses higher up his nose. "I always found that a bit odd."

"Did you know he owns a flower shop?" Yao practically shouted before he could stop himself. That sounded a bit too feverish for his liking. Matthew just arched an eyebrow and scribbled something down on his notepad. Yao tried and failed once more to make sense of such a strange image, ultimately gave up, and finally slumped back in his seat. "Anyway, he said sunflowers signal the end of a long winter. He said that is what I am to him. A sign of a cold time ending."

Matthew stopped writing, likely in the middle of a sentence. "Wow," he said. "That's rather deep. Did he explain that any further?"

Yao probably should have asked. That would have been the logical thing to do, but all logic was clouded in those strange fifteen minutes. "No, he did not."

"Alright." Matthew seemed unconcerned. "Now, did he say anything about his family?"

"Yes." It took Yao only a moment to remember the names Ivan mentioned. "He has two sisters. Natalia and Katyusha."

"Is that all he said?"

Perhaps that was not as helpful of an answer as Yao had hoped. "Yes, he did not say anything else about them."

"Thought so." Matthew tapped his pen against the desk and exhaled sharply through his nose. "Anything else?"

One detail stubbornly stuck out above all others. "He seemed very unsettled when I had to leave. He was almost frightened." Memory hit, and Yao began to speak as though no one was listening to him. He thought aloud. "He treats me like we have known each other for a decade, or something. He told me he loved me again, so I told him to stop saying that. It is so, so bizarre."

Matthew froze and slowly looked up. "And he complied?"

Yao met his unblinking gaze. "Yes."

"Huh." Matthew shook his head and looked down at his paper again. "Well, Yao, I have to ask. Would you consider coming back?"

Yao was not sure if he had a choice. He told himself he didn't, he told himself he could use the extra money, and he almost believed those statements when he said, "I will think about it."

.

Ivan was absolutely certain that if he wanted to, he could sprout wings and fly. That was how light, how unbelievably joyous he felt. His skin tingled with light and his chest filled with air as he exited Matthew's office. Suddenly, the world held color again. He did not care when the orderlies gave him strange looks that were now familiar, barely even noticed when he was given pills, barely even thought about it when he disposed of them. Absolutely nothing else mattered now that Yao had returned to him. He had even said they were friends. Friends! Of course Ivan wanted more, but friends would certainly do- for now.

When Gilbert entered the room, Ivan barely blinked. He didn't even stop smiling. Now, this boy was unimportant. Even though Ivan could not have cared less about his presence, he could not help but notice how different Gilbert suddenly looked. His shoulders were squared, his eyes were fixed open and scanning the room, his smirk was bordering on threatening- of course, he was in that strange alternate state he always went on about; something about being the king. Ivan didn't understand and he did not care to. It was an unimportant detail.

"Hey commie, did your little pet finally escape?"

Surely, he was not referring to Yao. No one would dare speak about Yao in such a way. Even still, Ivan smiled calmly and turned to face Gilbert. "Yao left a bit ago, if that is what you mean."

"Oh, is that his name?" Gilbert scoffed and flicked his hand in the air. "Whatever. Like it matters."

Ivan blinked rapidly. No. Nothing would spoil has mood. He simply would not allow it. "What do you mean?"

Gilbert laughed, his movements strange and jerking, his eyes still wide open. He acted as if that was just about the funniest thing he had ever heard in life. "You're a little slow, aren't you, commie?" Once he got control over himself, he stood firm in his stance and looked Ivan in the eye with a sneer. "The poor bastard is absolutely terrified of you."

What a ridiculous, unfounded statement. Ivan almost felt sorry for this silly German. He obviously misunderstood what he and Yao had, greatly. "I think you are misunderstanding," he said. "Yao likes me very much."

"Oh, man." Gilbert launched into another uncontrollable laughing fit. Once he stopped, his gaze landed in Ivan's direction, though his eyes moved too rapidly in their sockets. "You realize he's never coming back here, right? Jesus, he practically ran the second that pussy therapist opened the door."

Ivan narrowed his eyes and tensed his shoulders. No, this was ridiculous. Gilbert was just insane, exactly like everyone else in this god forsaken building. "You are wrong." He stared down at him, directly in his wild, unblinking crimson eyes. "He will come back. He said he will."

"Yeah, right!" Gilbert took a step closer and jabbed his finger into Ivan's chest. "Of course he said he would come back! He probably thought you would murder him if he didn't! Look, _everyone _is terrified of you. That pathetic therapist is, everyone who works here is, even Arthur is. So is Gilbert, but that asshole is scared of everything. I'm the only one here who's not afraid of your crazy communist ass."

Ivan ignored the fact that Gilbert was, for whatever reason, referring to himself in the third person. All he could concentrate on were the sparks of anger and floods of despair pooling in his blood, threatening to destroy all the happiness Yao had finally brought him. He could feel the conflicting emotions rising, multiplying, growing nearly strong enough to swallow him whole. But he pushed them down. He had to. "No." He had to fight to say it. "You do not know what you are talking about."

"Just keep telling yourself that." Gilbert spun on his heel and waved his hand in the air. It looked almost choreographed. Even though his back was turned, he did not stop speaking. God, why was he still speaking? "Whatever. Who cares what you kind of bullshit you tell yourself? It doesn't change the fact that you'll die alone. I mean, its not like anyone could ever love you." Leaving the deadly words in his wake, Gilbert walked out the door and slammed it behind him.

"You are…" Ivan felt his body tremble, break, dissolve, "…lying." He tried to convince himself that was true- that Gilbert was simply insane, that he did not know what he was talking about, that his words were nothing but cruel, ugly lies- but he lost the ability to. What Gilbert had said was true. "No…" The ground was going to split. The sun was going to fall from the sky. Ivan's entire body was going to shut down at once and he was finally, finally going to die, just like he had wanted to for so, so long. No longer able to stand, to live, he collapsed on the bed and tightened his scarf so forcefully he could barely even breath anymore- just like he wanted.

In the moments before Ivan fell into the void of sleep, he wished, begged, prayed with ever fiber of his being that he would never, ever wake up.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	5. Chapter 5

Yao really tried to forget. He tried to move past it, tried to focus on all the other things that he knew were far more important. But in the end, he found himself completely unable to stop thinking about Ivan Braginsky.

He thought about him even if it had been almost a week. He knew it was laughable at best and utterly insane at the worst, but no matter how true that was, it did nothing to stop the torrents of unreasonable thought swirling around in his mind. Ivan was completely unlike anyone Yao had ever met. In fact, he was unlike everything Yao thought it was possible for a person to be. His eyes seemed so gentle but held a million things behind them, his passion seemed so misplaced and ridiculous yet genuine all at the same time, and for the love of god, the guy owned a goddamn flower shop.

The restaurant was not crowded that particular day. Yao had no need to cook or manage the budget or keep his employees in line, meaning there was nothing left for him to do other than sit around and revel in these troublesome, stubborn thoughts. Clattering of pots and jumbled conversation filtering out from another room served as some kind of distraction, but it was not enough. He was fairly sure that if a meteorite was to fall to the earth and cause a deafening boom, it still would not be enough noise to pull his thoughts away from Ivan. Yao leaned against his office chair and sighed. This was so unlike him. He was never one for petty daydreaming, and yet that had been exactly what he had been doing all day.

The phone seemed to mock him from the corner of the desk. Yao had promised to call Matthew again once he had made a decision about coming again, and he had reached his decision quite some time ago… but that was not to say that he wanted to admit that decision to himself or anyone else. He sighed resignedly, told himself again that this was only for the small amount of money he was given, finally gave in and picked up the phone. It rang for both too long and not long enough.

"Hello?" answered Matthew.

"Afternoon, Dr. Williams." Yao drummed his fingers against the wood of the desk, nervous and unsure what to make of it. The feeling was absurd. "It's Yao."

"Oh, hello Yao. I trust you're doing well."

Yao supposed he was doing well enough, save for the intrusive thoughts taking up every second of his time. "I am. And yourself?"

"I'm doing just fine."

"That's good." Yao used the time spent on this meaningless small to try and formulate a way to go about this. After rehearsing it in his mind, he said, "How is Ivan?" …And that was not what he had planned to say at all. It had sounded much too personal for what this was.

"Ivan is…" When Matthew did not finish immediately, Yao held tighter to the phone. "He could be better."

The jabbing pain in Yao's chest almost startled him. Surely he was not actually concerned. He had no reason to be. Still, he felt a pressing need to ask more questions, to know more. "Why is that?"

"I think something happened with his roommate not long after you left, but I can't be sure. He's barely talking."

Yao sucked his lips against his teeth. "What a shame." He focused his eyes on a nearby piece of paper, glazing over the words but not actually reading them. "I've given some thought to your preposition, Dr. Williams."

"Oh, have you? What did you decide?"

There was no semblance of doubt anymore. "I would like to come back."

"Really?" Matthew sounded faintly surprised. "That's excellent. When would be a good time for you? Are you free later this week?"

"Actually…" Yao glanced at the clock and wished the hands would move faster. He spoke before he could stop himself. "I think I can stop by after work."

.

It was just another day, another cold, lifeless day in the inescapable pit that was the hospital. Everything felt colorless, empty. The feeling did not seem to be limited to Ivan, either. During the group therapy session he was subjected to that day, no one spoke much. Gilbert alternated between scraping at his arms and glancing at Matthew, Matthew seemed too busy returning the glances to conduct the meeting; Arthur just stared into the distance with an expression that was a strange mix of preoccupation and anger, and Mathias looked to be so exhausted he could barely move. Ivan was certain he felt the same emotions as the others- except he felt them all at once.

It was not until Matthew pulled him aside afterwards that a spark of light cut through the darkness. "Yao is visiting today."

Some of the weight was lifted, but traces of uncertainty and a swirl of emotion that refused to be placed still remained. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I just spoke to him. He'll be here around six."

Ivan knew it immediately: They were dangling on a cliff's edge. Within the next few hours, he would know if Gilbert was right about Yao, right about Ivan's life. He had everything to lose. "Six," he repeated. "Thank you." Ivan managed to keep a smile until he turned his back. Then, he allowed his face to reflect the fear he felt. But he was not willing to show it, so he pressed half his face into the fabric of his scarf until he reached his room.

The afternoon passed too quickly, too slowly. Ivan was panicking. He was calm. He did not even know what the best way to describe it was, and he did not care to know. He scratched lines in the journal Matthew had insisted he have, filling pages and pages with nothing but nonsensical pencil marks. That was all the thing was good for. All he cared about were the hands of the clock, ticking away to the answer he needed. His heart sped up when it reached five and it nearly burst at five-thirty. When it ticked right past six, he was sure his heart was gone entirely. The crazy boy had been right. Yao must hate him, he must have left like everyone else, he must have-

"Ivan?"

Ivan looked up, broken out of his thoughts by this voice. For a moment he was sure he had hallucinated it. But then his eyes fell to Yao, standing in the doorway of the common room. He was a burst of fire in this cold, dark place. Yet instead of relief or pure, blinding joy like last time, Ivan felt a strain of…anger. "Yao." He did not look him in the eye, did not show his face in fear he would make this emotion known. "Matthew said you would arrive at six."

"Yes, that is about what time it is, isn't it?" Ivan followed the disembodied voice with pained hesitance. Yao spoke as though he did not understand Ivan's distress, did not even know it existed, did not even _care. _

"You are late." Ivan took a breath, picked at his scarf. He avoided eye contact as if simply being looked at would burn him. It was beginning to feel that way. "I thought you would not come."

"Why would you think that?"

He really did not understand a thing. Ivan almost laughed, but what came out was more of a twisted sigh. He finally turned to face Yao, the movement almost involuntary, and was pummeled with choking emotion the moment their eyes met. "Yao." His name cut through the jumble of voices and sound around him. Ivan's head swam, and for a brief moment he was drowning. But he came to the surface again, then used the breath he managed to catch to speak without even realizing it. "I thought you left like the others. Gilbert, the crazy boy, he told me…I do not know why I would listen, but he told me…" His words dissolved into a tangle of Russian and English, neither of the languages making sense. Either tears or laughter punctuated each sentence - they both felt the same.

"Ivan!" Yao's voice cut through the static engulfing Ivan's mind. "Ivan, slow down. I do not understand you."

The unintentional double meaning hit with a jolt. "No, you do not," said Ivan quietly, too quietly to even hear himself. Maybe he did not say it at all. He was not sure if he said his next words either. "But is okay, because you are here. You came back, Yao. Gilbert was wrong about us."

"I… suppose." Apparently Ivan had said it, and apparently Yao had heard. He cleared his throat and glanced around the common room, his eyes glazing over the others. Ivan followed his gaze. Gilbert was nowhere to be seen, and Arthur's shouting could be heard from their room. Yao's line of sight fell to his shoes. "Have you been alright?"

Ivan stared for a long moment. He searched for ulterior motives, the faint trace of doubt still lingering in him driving him to do so. When he found nothing, he realized quickly that he hardly remembered the past week at all. He had spent it in a fog, barely speaking, not really even living. Gilbert's cruel words had cast dark shadows over everything. Ivan began to feel ridiculous. Why had he listened? Why were the words still whistling in his ears, and why was he _still _listening? He managed a small smile. How absurd. Yao did not need to know. "I have been fine."

Yao stared right back. It was strange; how they were staring each other down from couch to doorway, neither making an attempt at movement. It was like they were an ocean apart, rather than a few feet. Yao broke the odd silence. "That is not what I was told."

Matthew appeared next to Yao out of nowhere. Ivan swore that boy faded right into the furniture. "Ivan, Yao," he said. "My office, remember? There's no need to stand in the middle of the room."

No, there really was no need to stand here amongst the people Ivan did not wish to relate to, to look at. Leaving a pocket of distance between himself, Matthew, Yao and everyone else in the damned place, he walked to that same office and away from the eyes of the others. The door shut, and once again, they were alone- as alone as they could be, anyway. Ivan knew he should be happy, but all he truly wanted to do was go back to bed. He found nothing to say, so he sat down wordlessly.

"You look very tired."

The concern in Yao's voice was enough to make Ivan look up. Was it really that obvious? His limbs felt entirely too heavy, his head pounded with every beat of his heart, and occasionally it even hurt to breathe, but he did not realize it was visible. That would need to change. "Oh," he said. "No, I am fine." Yes, he was fine. He had to be, because he was not like the others. He was not delusional like Arthur, he was not unstable like Mathias, and he was not completely, undeniably insane like _Gilbert. _

"You don't look fine." Yao stopped speaking midway through his last word as if he had said too much. He took a long, audible breath and sat down on the sofa, as far away from Ivan as he could. "Why did you think I would not come?"

It came as a shock when Ivan realized he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of much of anything, really. He hadn't been for a long time. It almost amused him, now that he thought about it. Finally, he took a cleansing breath and met Yao's eyes for more than a brief moment. "That does not matter." He realized his scarf was too tight, so he loosened it with a light laugh. Maybe an explanation would not hurt anything. "My roommate, he is an odd one. He says many upsetting things, crazy things." And how ridiculous it was to listen. Ivan laughed again, amused with himself, amused with Gilbert.

Yao pressed his body into the corner of the sofa, his hand gripping the arm. He blinked away his inexplicable bewilderment and said, "What is your roommate like?"

"I have two, actually." Ivan wondered what they were up to. "Arthur, he is also odd. He likes to shout at no one. It wakes me up sometimes." He thought back to the previous night, when Arthur had taken to mumbling to himself for what felt like hours. "Then there is Gilbert." The very name burnt Ivan's tongue. He narrowed his eyes and forced himself to go on. "He is completely insane. He always tries to hurt his arms. He calls me 'communist,' and he calls himself 'king.'" He chose to omit all Gilbert had said days ago. Yao did not need to know about that, and he certainly did not need to know Ivan's reaction.

"Wow." Yao shook his head, seemingly out of disbelief. "That sounds… overwhelming. How do you deal with it?"

Ivan was glad that Yao did not have to witness such things. He tilted his head, chuckled and pressed his fingers against his ears in place of an answer. There was no other way to deal with those two.

"That would drive me insane." Yao tensed and quickly added, "I mean, it sounds upsetting. Why does he call you that?"

Ivan shrugged. "He does not like me."

"Why would he not like you?"

"He does not like many people. He is insane." Ivan thought back to the first time they spoke. What a disaster that was.

Yao opened his mouth only to quickly shut it. He picked at the upholstery of the sofa and crossed his legs. "Do you call him insane to his face?"

"Yes, because he is."

"What?" Yao practically shouted the word. Ivan was almost confused. It seemed like such an obvious thing. It took Yao a moment to reel himself back, to get over the shock that seemed completely misplaced. "That's probably why he doesn't like you. You can't just call people crazy, Ivan."

Ivan narrowed his eyes. "But he is crazy."

"Maybe he is, but…" Yao broke off, glanced quickly at Ivan, and then stared into his hands. "What if I called you insane?"

A painful shock of panic hit like a bullet. Ivan's hands went numb, his mind following suit a moment after. "I am not insane."

"I know," said Yao quickly, too quickly. "I wouldn't call you insane, because it would be upsetting. It's insensitive."

Of course it was upsetting. That was precisely why Ivan said it. Gilbert had insulted him, insulted Yao, and he wanted to hurt him back. He needed to. There was nothing else he could do. It lit a fire in his mind when he managed to break Gilbert, and for just a moment, he felt in control. Powerful. It broke up the empty void in his mind. But Yao did not need to know that. "Maybe I will stop, then." It was a lie. It did not matter.

"Alright. Good." Yao exhaled heavily as if he had been holding his breath. "Can you tell me about your family?"

Well, that was an abrupt change of topic. It almost seemed as though someone had told him to say it. Ivan dismissed the odd suspicion and instead focused on the question. He did not want to speak about his family. They rarely even spoke to him. He pulled at his scarf and curled his fingers into hands. They had _forgotten _about him. "Why?"

"I was curious," said Yao. "I want to get to know you."

Ivan let his hands fall back to his lap, and he felt a swelling in his chest. He forgot ever being hesitant to speak. Yao wanted to get to know him. That was a good sign. "Of course." He thought back to his life in Russia, to the cold winters and sleepless nights. "I grew up with my sisters. My parents are no longer around."

"Neither are mine, actually…" Yao's voice faded into nothing. He shook his head. "What are your sisters like?"

"Katyusha is very sweet, motherly. She is older. Natalia is younger, and she is very possessive." Natalia always clung to Ivan, always grew agitated when he left her alone. Sometimes she even went into fits of rage, which were disturbing if not outright frightening. A shudder went down his spine and he quickly adverted his thoughts. "They have not visited yet."

"I'm sure they will." Yao spoke confidently. Ivan instantly felt a bit better, though he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted that to be true. "Do they know you're here?"

"No, they do not." And Ivan was reluctant to tell them. After his parents passed, he was always the strong one. His sisters did not need to know that he was in this hospital, among these kinds of people. The very idea sickened him. His stomach twisted into painful knots, a strange mix of guilt and longing. "I miss them," he said without thinking. Yao nodded in understanding, listening intently, and Ivan felt safe enough to continue. "I used to support them, but now, I cannot do that. It makes me feel… not useful." He surprised himself when he admitted it, and it surprised him even more when he did not regret it.

"Your health would be important to them, yes?" Yao moved away from the corner and closer to Ivan, seemingly without meaning to. Ivan's pulse quickened. "You should tell them."

Ivan knew that was unavoidable. The idea still put him off, but Yao saying these things made thinking about it more bearable. His mind began to wander, and before he even knew he had opened his mouth he said, "I wonder if Katyusha's hair has grown."

Yao blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"When she was a child, she had long, beautiful hair. But a few years ago she cut her hair short, like boy." Ivan smiled to himself, remembering. His sister's hair was lovely either way. "I used to put it up for her. Sometimes during summer I put flowers in it."

"That is very sweet," said Yao quietly. "You sound like a good brother."

"Thank you, Yao. This is very nice thing to say." Ivan felt his skin grow warmer. It was a welcome change from the coldness he had been feeling all week. His eyes fell to Yao's dark, shining hair, and an idea came to mind before he could stop it. "Can I show you?"

Yao loosened his grip on the sofa and leaned forward just enough for it to be noticeable. "Show me what?"

"Your hair, it reminds me of Katyusha's. I would like to… fix it?"

"Oh." Yao said it in a breath. He hesitated, but then he slowly nodded once. "I think that would be alright."

Ivan's heart stopped beating as Yao turned his back towards him. Weeks ago when he first saw him, he embraced him without a second thought. Now, simply touching him felt forbidden. Ivan could not fathom it. He ignored the slight tremble of his hands, reached forward and undid the ribbon holding his hair. "Your hair is very beautiful, sunflower." He made sure to be gentle as he ran his fingers through it, fearing he would hurt him. It was soft, like silk.

"Thank you." At first, Yao tensed at Ivan's touch. He relaxed moments later.

It did not take long for Ivan to fall into memory and begin the same style he had done countless times before. Thirty seconds in, he wondered how long it had been since he had touched another human being. Gilbert grabbing at him in anger surely did not count, and neither did being manhandled by doctors upon admission. This was infinitely more intimate, and it set the back of Ivan's neck ablaze. He felt a need to fill the silence. "I have told you about my growing up, Yao. Tell me about yours." He was genuinely curious. He wanted to know everything.

"Oh, it was nothing remarkable." Yao brought his hands together and clasped them loosely in his lap. "I grew up in China, and Kiku grew up in Japan. We didn't meet until later in life. My parents were very strict, always working. I spent a lot of time alone."

_"__Da, _I did this as well. Not many friends." In reality, 'not many' meant 'none.' Ivan ignored the thought and wove a strand of his hair into a braid, slower and more carefully than what was strictly necessary. He wanted this to last as long as possible. "Did you have many friends, Yao?"

"Some, not a lot. I never found it necessary."

Ivan smiled. Yao always seemed like the independent, strong type. "But we are friends now." He brushed Yao's neck with his hand deliberately, meaning for it to come across as accidental. "Right?"

"Yes." Ivan felt his heart clench at the swiftness of Yao's response. Take that, Gilbert. Once the surge of happiness passed, Ivan felt suddenly calm- calmer than he had been since he checked in, possibly even longer.

But it all came crashing down when there was a knock at the door. "Ivan," said Matthew. "It's time."

The serenity was gone. Ivan twisted the last of Yao's hair into the bun, dropped his hands, and felt his heart sink, fast and hard. Familiar strains of fear set in. "Alright." He noticed his voice wavered, but he did not care.

Yao touched the back of his head. "Wow," he said. "That is quite impressive."

Ivan managed a slight, quivering smile. "I am glad you like it." Yao stood, and Ivan placed his hand on the small of his back as he did so. Fortunately, Yao did not move from his touch. "You come back, Yao?" Ivan needed him to come back. He was a breath of fresh air in this dark, lifeless prison.

Yao broke away from his hand and faced him, his expression unreadable yet firm. "I suppose I will, yes."

Ivan felt the hold on his lungs loosen, but his stomach still dropped when Yao walked towards the door. "Goodbye, Ivan," he said. Ivan waved weakly in response. Yao reached for the doorknob, but his hand froze around it. "Hopefully your roommate will start to like you."

As if it mattered. Ivan did not want Gilbert to like him. Instead, he asked something that actually did matter to him. It mattered more than anything. "Do you like me, Yao?"

Ivan felt his throat close when he realized Yao was hesitating, but the feeling went away when he spoke. "I do not dislike you." He looked up and ran his eyes down Ivan's form. "No, I do not dislike you at all."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	6. Chapter 6

When Ivan sat down in Matthew's office, he felt just fine. Gilbert had not said anything to end his world, Arthur had not kept him up all night, and most importantly, Yao promised he would return. Everything was right in the world- as right as it could be in this hospital. Ivan could have danced, sang, cried out joyfully, but he did not want to make himself a spectacle. Instead he smiled at Matthew, who had been staring at him rather intently since he entered the room. "Good morning, Matthew. How are you today?"

"I'm doing fine." Matthew finally broke out of his stare and looked down at his clipboard. "How about yourself, Ivan? How have your medications been working for you? Any side effects?"

"I am excellent. No side effects at all." Ivan kept his smile to hide the fact that he had not swallowed one pill. It almost amused him how oblivious everyone else was to his medication dodging. Besides, he was feeling excellent, so why would he need them? He did not need to be changed. Not wishing to stay on this subject any longer, he said, "Is a lovely day today, is it not?"

Matthew glanced out the window and rested his chin in his hand. "It's raining."

The sky was grey, pelting rain rolled down the glass of the window, and flashes of lightning occasionally illuminated the sky. Ivan gave a short laugh when he realized how unfitting it was, but it was not like it mattered. The weather had nothing to do with his statement. The apocalypse could have started outside, and that would not have changed a thing. "Oh well. It is still lovely."

Matthew leaned against his chair, his posture relaxed. "You seem to be in a great mood today. Is this because of Yao?"

"It is." Ivan's mind fell back to how Yao's hair felt in his hands, the smoothness of his voice, the way he smelled faintly of spice. He held back the urge to sigh with pleasure. "Yao is perfect. He understands me."

"Understands you? Why do you say that?"

Ivan nodded, though he had to search for a response. He could not really explain it, but he was certain Yao understood him far more than either of his roommates or Matthew. "We have lot in common. We grew up in similar way, we both have siblings, and we are both business owners."

"Oh, I see. That must be nice." Matthew crossed his legs and brought his hands together. "Speaking of owning businesses, I understand you owned a flower shop, is that correct?"

Ivan narrowed his eyes. He had not told Matthew about that, nor was he planning to. Aside from Yao, he had mentioned his business to no one in the hospital. He did not wish to bring his personal affairs into a place like this. "How did you know this?"

"It was… in your file." Matthew's words were suspiciously careful.

Ivan continued to stare at him, trying to find an explanation behind his blank expression. When he realized he was doing it, he stopped himself and pushed back his suspicion. It was not a big deal, he supposed. After all, there was no way Yao could have told him. Their conversations were private. "Yes, this is true. Why?"

"You may find this strange, Ivan, but I would like you to hear me out," said Matthew. "Part of treatment here is providing a creative outlet for the patients. For example, if a patient had a background in art prior to checking in, we make sure to get them drawing. If they have a passion for music, it's usually beneficial that they write songs. With you, I see a passion for nature, namely flowers. Would that be accurate?"

Maybe Matthew did understand him a little more than Ivan thought. Not as much as Yao, but it was a start. Ivan's fondest memories involved time spent in gardens, though the temperatures in Russia made those times few and far between. "Yes, I would say that is very accurate."

"Okay, excellent." Matthew turned his head towards the window again, where the storm was still whipping through the skies. "Ivan, would you be interested in starting a garden here?"

Ivan stayed still for a long moment. This was definitely not something he expected out of this place. Once the question set in, he could not stop from smiling almost manically. A garden! He could hardly believe it. Not only would it give him a place to be away from his roommates, but would get to show Yao once he was finished. He was not even sure what to be excited about first. "That sounds very wonderful, Matthew!" He spoke excitedly, much more than he knew he should, but the jolt of energy beneath his skin rendered all of that meaningless.

Matthew nodded, seemingly pleased. "Great. Everything you need should be out there for you, once this weather clears up."

"Thank you. This is very nice thing to do." Even though the weather had not bothered him before, Ivan suddenly wished the weather would hurry up and cooperate. He already had ideas.

"No problem at all, Ivan. I think it will be therapeutic."

The rest of the session passed how it usually did, with Matthew asking odd questions about Ivan's thoughts that felt both intrusive and irrelevant. He almost asked why Matthew seemed so convinced that he wished to hurt himself, but he held his tongue. If Matthew still misunderstood him, it was an unimportant detail. All he wanted to think about was his future garden- his colorful, open sanctuary when there was nothing but white walls and screaming around him. While the rain continued to fall, Ivan looked out the window and imagined miles of sunflowers. They were almost as beautiful as Yao.

.

When the sky cleared, so did Ivan's mind. He was fully aware that he was essentially being used as free labor with the cover of it being therapy, but it did not matter. Ivan loved his garden. Even group therapy became bearable, because after all was said and done, he could go back outside and dissolve into himself. The wind against his skin washed away the stale air of the hospital, and the birds in the distance wiped the memory of Gilbert's words from his thoughts. All he needed to concentrate on was the cool dirt at his fingertips, the arrangement of the flowers, and thoughts of Yao.

But Yao was not the only thing on his mind. There were certain things that Ivan preferred not to think about. He did not like to think about his weight, or his childhood, or his old friends. Thinking of this family felt like standing under an avalanche. He could usually push these things out of his thoughts, but when he was surrounded by nothing but quiet and tasks that did not require the use of his mind, he found it unavoidable. At first, he fought it. Eventually, he gave up on trying to stop his mind from wandering.

Sometimes, during moments of weakness, Matthew was able to get these thoughts out of him. It usually happened right after Ivan was finished gardening for the day and thoughts of his sisters or his Baltic friends still clung stubbornly to his mind. Today was one of those days. "Why do you think your sisters will abandon you, Ivan?"

Ivan tightened his hands into fists. He had just finished speaking about that, and he was still unable to believe that he had. It was almost as if he had disconnected himself from it. He slowly uncurled his fingers, took a breath, and told himself it did not matter. The more he spoke, the earlier he got out of this place. "I am not sure," he said finally. It was the truth. "I just have a feeling."

Matthew nodded. "But you haven't told them where you are. How can you be sure what their reaction will be?"

There it was again. Occasionally, Matthew would say something just a bit too personal, something that Ivan knew he had never mentioned to anyone but Yao. He always managed to convince himself it was meaningless. This time was no exception. Ivan told himself Matthew had simply assumed, and moved on. "I have always had to be strong one for them. I do not want them to think less of me." Cold sweat bloomed on the back of his neck as he said the words. This was too personal. He was being pushed too far, admitting too much. There was only so much more he would allow himself to say.

"That's understandable, but Ivan, they're your sisters. I really doubt they would stop speaking to you over something like this. If anything, I would think they would be more supportive if they knew you were unwell." Matthew sounded far too patronizing.

Unwell. The word itself sent floods of resentment through Ivan's blood. It was a nice way to say sick, unstable, _crazy. _But he did not break, because Ivan knew he was perfectly fine. Dammit, he had to be fine. He managed to smile and speak calmly. "But what would I tell them?"

This time, Matthew did not have an immediate answer. He broke eye contact and stared at the cuffs on his sleeves. "Well," he said, "you could start by disclosing your diagnosis."

Ivan's stomach dropped as fast and hard as an anvil falling from a ten-story building. No, not this. This was the very moment he was dreading, the moment he had partially believed would never happen. He did not wish to be branded like a cow, to be filled with toxic mediations and changed beyond repair. Maintaining a stoic expression over his pounding heart and numbed mind was an immense struggle. "What would that be?" he asked, even though he was positive he did not want to know.

When Matthew looked up his gaze was even and firm, though the rest of him seemed to radiate sympathy. It only made Ivan feel worse. "There's no need to panic about this, alright?" Ivan was already doing just that, but he nodded anyway. The wait for Matthew to complete his thought, though it was only a few seconds, felt like hours. "Ivan, what you're suffering from is called borderline personality disorder."

Ivan stared back at him as the room burst apart beneath his feet. He did not know what to make of that, because he had never heard of it before. He had no idea what it meant for him. Seconds passed in the silence, and Ivan realized what the term meant hardly mattered. All that mattered was the word 'disorder' hanging in the air, mocking him. He knew now, more than ever, that he was broken. His thoughts stopped, then flew into a tizzy, then finally settled on one world-ending question.

How could Yao ever love someone broken?

.

Yao's week was far too confusing for his liking.

He knew this was becoming entirely too personal. Yao was not supposed to still be thinking about- much less _look forward to- _his visits with Ivan. The visits were supposed to be something he was doing out of the good of his heart, if not for a small amount of money he was being given. But Ivan spoke about his family and his childhood; it stopped feeling like a job. When he ran his fingers through Yao's hair, his touch surprisingly gentle, it felt comfortable. Yao could even go as far as to say that it felt safe, even though Ivan was supposed to be the opposite.

Somewhere between the moment he left the hospital and the moment he undid the intricate set of braids the next morning, Yao realized his initial fear had given way almost entirely to something that was closer to… sympathy. Maybe he realized it when he was reporting what had happened to Matthew and he began to feel guilty, knowing that he was repeating things Ivan had told him in confidence. Maybe he realized it when he found himself replaying the visit over and over again in his mind in the moments before he went to sleep. Strangely enough, it only became strikingly apparent when he felt hesitant to take his hair down. It was only amplified as the days passed and Ivan stuck stubbornly to the back of his thoughts.

No, Yao did not dislike Ivan at all. And that was more terrifying than Ivan ever was.

Now that a week had passed since Yao had last seen Ivan, it was time to stare that terror in the face. But as Yao made his way through the twisting hallways he had grown to know like the back of his hand, he realized he was hardly even nervous anymore. This hospital was not longer a great unknown; Ivan was no longer a strange, frightening taboo. The only thing left that managed to scare him was how normal all of it was becoming. Years ago when he had envisioned what he thought his life was going to be like, unconsciously counting down the days to go visit a psych ward was not in the image.

The strange jolt that shot through his chest when Ivan ran up to him and grasped his hands was not exactly in the plan, either. "Yao," he said quickly, his eyes lighting up. "I have something to show you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Yao saw Matthew nod in what he assumed was approval. "Alright." He did not hesitate. He did not even think to ask what Ivan had to show him. Strangely enough, Yao made the odd decision to trust him. His unthinking decision not to pull his hand away as Ivan led him outside was ever odder.

A short walk, a few turns and a splash of confusion later, Ivan stopped walking. Yao looked up from the labyrinth of stones beneath his feet to find himself surrounded by flowers; some red, some blue, but the majority yellow. The colors were nearly startling in the middle of such a grey, dull place. It was not until after Yao's gaze moved to trees brushing the sky that he realized his hand was still in Ivan's. He quickly dropped it. "Wow," he said finally. "This is beautiful."

"You like it?" Ivan sounded almost disbelieving. Yao simply nodded up at him, slightly confused. Ivan beamed. "I am very glad to hear this. It is all for you."

"For me?" All Yao saw was a garden. No matter how hard he tried to understand Ivan's words, he couldn't make sense of them. He supposed he had better get used to not understanding. "What do you mean?"

Ivan lifted a hand and waved it over the grounds in a sweeping, triumphant motion. "This is mine," he said. "Everything you see here, is my doing."

Finally, it clicked. This was Ivan's garden. That certainly explained the abundance of sunflowers, but it did not explain how he was able to do this. Just a week ago, this place was a fraction of what it was now. One man's work, driven by nothing but passion, had done all of it. Maybe Yao did not completely understand Ivan or his affinity for plants, but he suddenly found himself dangerously close to being charmed by him. He ignored the thought and asked, "Why would you say it's for me?"

Ivan smiled at the ground. "Because I could not wait to show you."

In that moment, Yao could almost not believe he had ever thought Ivan to be frightening. It was something about the excitement he did not try to hide, his sudden bashfulness when asked about certain things, the emotions he wore for the entire world to see… if Yao did not know any better, he would think of him as the most innocent man he had ever met. Of course he had more evidence that proved the opposite than he could ignore, but in that very second he was almost able to. Yao tore his eyes from Ivan and stared at the flowers as if he was trying to find patterns in the colors. "I'm glad you're showing me, then."

A strong gust of wind broke the silence that followed, sending a floral fragrance through the air. Yao's hair brushed his collar as he watched the end of Ivan's scarf catch the breeze. "I am too," said Ivan, so softy his voice was nearly carried away. He motioned towards a bench. "Will you sit with me?"

"Sure." Again, Yao responded without hesitance though he wasn't exactly sure why. He sat next to Ivan on the bench, the wood warm to the touch in the July sun. Though he knew this situation should logically do the opposite, Yao felt himself start to relax as he surveyed the landscape before him. Words came easier. "How have you been doing, Ivan?"

Ivan's smile fell for a flash, like a camera losing focus. But after he rubbed his eyes, it was as if it never happened. "I am well. Just busy with all of this." He lowered his hand to his scarf, took hold of it, and stared at the ground. "I am perfectly normal." Yao just barely heard him. It was as if Ivan was only taking to himself.

Yao was not sure how to respond or even if he should. "Well, yes. I would assume so," he said just as quietly. When Ivan said nothing, he quickly found it best to change the subject. "How were you able to start this garden here?"

Ivan switched faster than the channels on TV. He lifted his gaze from the ground with impressive speed, looked and Yao and immediately smiled. "I was told it was part of my treatment." Yao noticed the sarcastic edge Ivan put on the last word, perhaps unintentionally. "It is relaxing. But anywhere I am away from the others is relaxing." He laughed at that. "When I am here, it almost feels like I am no longer in hospital."

"I can believe that." Yao did not feel as though he was currently on hospital grounds, either. When he looked back towards the door, it felt like staring at a portal into a different world. That got him remembering their last visit. "Are you getting along with your roommates?"

"Well, I have not called anyone crazy. This is improvement, yes?"

It took too long of a pause and a silly smile from Ivan for Yao to realize he was joking with him. When it clicked, he could not help it- he laughed, though he covered it with his hand. Just like that, whatever remaining tension hanging in the air disappeared. "Yes," he managed to say. "That is certainly an improvement, Ivan."

"Wonderful!" said Ivan, grinning wildly. There was that strange, misplaced excitement again. Yao bit his lip in an attempt to keep from smiling. Ivan came down from his excitement and said, "And how have you been, Yao?"

Yao thought back to the week he had just had and quickly realized there was almost nothing exciting about it. Life at the restaurant was a never-ending blur of stress, his small group of friends was doing fine- not that he had any time to visit with any of them. Nothing stood out. The most interesting moment out of it all was this one- this calm, still somewhat bizarre moment in a hospital's garden, the one he was spending with a Russian psych patient. And he was not sure how to feel about that. Yao shook his head as if to collect himself and finally answered the simple question. "I have been fine." For a strange, fleeting moment, he wondered how true that statement really was.

Ivan tipped his head to the side, and he stopped smiling yet again. For how often Ivan smiled, it seemed very fickle. "You always say you are fine, Yao. Why just fine?"

Yao was fully intent on dismissing the question as silliness, but he realized he could not quite bring himself to do it. He began to consider Ivan's question in spite of himself, even though it was over simple word choice. Thoughts thrashing, he gave up on reaching a solid answer and settled on dodging the question completely. "You say the same thing."

Ivan shrugged, his face more or less blank. "That is because I am here."

"Oh." Yao never knew what to say to things like that. He supposed he was a bit more than fine, considering. He looked out into the garden again, then over the building and into the horizon. "Do you miss your shop?" He deliberated if he should regret the question, but he didn't.

Surprisingly, Ivan did not stop smiling this time. He looked straight at a brush of flowers and gave a sigh that resembled a laugh. "I do," he said. His hands fell to his lap and he wrung them together, again and again, so vehemently it almost looked painful. "But Yao, I am not sure I could…handle it." His last two words were nearly quiet enough to be swept away in the breeze.

"Handle it?" Yao quickly noticed that Ivan would not look him in the eye. It was almost surreal to see him so humbled, so downright vulnerable. "Why do you say that?"

Ivan turned his head sharply. "Because I am here." Though he had said the same words just moments ago, there seemed to be much more behind them this time.

Sympathy hit Yao like a tidal wave though he wished it hadn't. He knew he needed to separate himself from this, from Ivan, from the feelings he absolutely should not be having. Though he knew that, it did nothing to stop him from saying, "Don't you think that is a bit self-defeating?"

Ivan finally looked back at him, seemingly taken aback. "Sorry?"

"You talk as if you will be here forever." Yao was not precisely sure why he felt such a need to turn this around, but for whatever reason, he did. He could not ignore the urge. "You're here to get better. Isn't that what all the medication and therapy is for?"

Another split second, another abrupt change in Ivan's expression. His lip curled upward, his eyes narrowed and he turned his shoulder. "I do not take those pills."

Yao thought he was done being shocked by Ivan, but apparently he was wrong. "What?" He shook his head, half surprised, half simply incredulous. "Why would you not take what you are prescribed?"

Ivan looked just as confused as Yao if not more so. He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. "Because I do not wish to be changed." Right after he said it, he tensed and his eyes flew open. "Do you want to change me, Yao?"

"No," said Yao quickly, too quickly. Though the answer was instinctual, it was not a lie. He chose his next words carefully. "Wanting to change someone and wanting them to be healthy are considerably different concepts."

"Oh." Ivan pressed his fingers to his mouth, maybe thinking, maybe trying to make sense of it all.

"You are more than this place, Ivan." It took Yao a moment to realize he really had just said that. It took a moment longer to realize he meant it.

"Oh," Ivan said again. He turned his attention to the end of his scarf and picked at the fabric. "You really think that?"

Yao had to pause. Just a few weeks ago, after being cornered and nearly suffocated by the very man he was comfortable sitting next to now, he never would have said Ivan could be anything more than crazy. But of course it could not be that simple. He no longer saw the man next to him as the insane Russian psych patient. He only saw Ivan, the man who loves flowers and smiles constantly and cares about his sisters more than himself. Yes, Ivan was probably dangerous and he was definitely disturbed. Yao gave that no mind when he said, "Yes, I do." He thought about it even less when Ivan hugged him. Yao thought about pulling away, but he could not bring himself to.

Though the hug was awkward, stiff and short, Yao could say one thing- he did not feel suffocated, and he certainly did not feel threatened. That was nothing if not an improvement. "Thank you." Ivan's words fell against Yao's neck, and he tried to ignore the strange tingle that shot across his chest. He could not be completely certain what he was being thanked for, but he supposed that might have been the point. The distance between them widened again, and Ivan wrapped his arms around himself as though he was cold in the midsummer sun. He spoke towards the ground. "I suppose I will take them."

No matter how ridiculous it was, Yao was instantly relieved. "Good." When he glanced down at his watch, he was not sure what to be surprised about first- how quickly the time had passed, or the slight twinge of dread he felt when he realized he had to leave soon. Yao immediately told himself to stop being ridiculous. "I believe I have to go."

"Oh," said Ivan quietly. He let out a long breath and nodded. "Alright." While his voice had dipped dramatically- perhaps too dramatically- he did not sound quite as frantic as he did the first time. It was another slight improvement, Yao supposed.

"Take care, Ivan," said Yao, standing. "I will-" But the thought he intended to finish- if he even had one- was knocked out of him when Ivan took his hands.

"You will come back, yes? Next week?" Even though improvements had been made, familiar nervousness was still apparent in his voice.

"Yes," said Yao too quickly for his own liking. He did not want to admit it to himself, but he could not exactly deny it, either: He wanted to come back. Maybe he did not even want to wait a week. Once he was able to at least partially come to terms with it, he was struck by an idea he could very well regret later. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached into his pocket, withdrew a business card from his restaurant and all but shoved it into Ivan's hand.

Ivan studied the card intently as if he was unsure what it was. He finally looked up, his lips parted in an inaudible _oh. _"Yao?" He said his name as a question, a statement of outright disbelief.

"In case you wanted to talk." Yao tried to sound flippant, though he couldn't believe he had just done that.

"I believe I will." Ivan placed the card in the pocket of his overcoat, but he did not take his hand out. He must have been holding onto it. "I greatly appreciate this, Yao."

As if Yao was only doing this for his sake- oh god, stop. "Not a problem."

That was not a problem in itself, but Yao had a feeling he had just created about twenty. Everything about this should have been a problem, logically. Perhaps the biggest problem was that it did not feel like one at all.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: Trigger warning for vague descriptions of abuse. **

* * *

><p>Ivan had never used the hospital's phone before. He had no reason to. He could have called his sisters, but he was too aware of what would appear on their caller ID. He could have called his little Baltic friends, but he did not have any of their numbers. But now that he had someone to call, he avoided the phone even more than he did before. He refused to believe he was <em>nervous. <em>Never in his life had he been nervous over something as trivial as a phone call. What a ridiculous, childish thing to feel. Yet no matter how much he denied such a feeling, he could not stop his pulse from racing whenever he withdrew Yao's card from his pocket and read the numbers.

After three days of this nonsense, Ivan was determined to conquer it.

When he was sure the hallway was empty and there was no one to listen to things they should not hear, Ivan approached the very phone he had been, for whatever reason, avoiding like a swarm of bees. After glancing down the hall and reminding himself again that it was empty, he pushed the numbers with rapid-fire speed. He disregarded the trembling of his fingers, but nearly stopped breathing when the ringing stopped. "Ivan?" said the wonderfully familiar, heart stopping voice.

"Hello!" Ivan nearly shouted it and immediately cringed. That sounded a bit manic. "How are you doing, Yao?" This time, he sounded normal. Of course he did, because he was normal. He was.

"I'm just fine. And yourself?"

Ivan smiled, and his pulse returned to a normal speed. This felt like a normal conversation. In that moment, he forgot he was using a hospital phone, forgot the label that might as well have been stapled to his back. "I am fine," he said honestly.

"Good, good." Yao almost sounded preoccupied. He took an audible breath, and Ivan said nothing. He had a feeling Yao would continue, and eventually he did. "Did you take your-"

"Yes," said Ivan, unwilling to hear him finish. Though he still loathed the thought of it, he had taken those blasted pills even if he nearly choked on them. The only thing that kept his throat from closing while he was doing it were Yao's words echoing in the back of his mind. He felt sick afterwards, but he told himself again and again that it was worth it. He would down a glass of straight cyanide if it meant Yao would not view him as broken, would not locate the skeletons in his closet.

"Did you?" Yao sounded incredulous, and Ivan was not sure if that should offend him. He ultimately let it go.

Ivan smiled at the wall. _"Da, _I did! I would not lie to you, sunflower."

And again the silence. Yao broke it. "I never thought you would." During the pause that followed, Ivan glanced down the hall again. No doctors, no nurses, and best of all, no Gilbert. Good. He only looked away when Yao spoke again. "Can I ask what you do there all day?" he said and quickly added, "I was curious."

Just like that, Ivan remembered where he was. "Oh." His thoughts shot into a messy jumble, trying to think of a way to make this sound normal, trying to believe it was. "Is…boring, mostly," he said finally. "They put us through many kind of-" He stopped speaking before the word _therapy _could pass his lips. Therapy implied sick. It implied not normal.

"Many kinds of…?" Yao prompted.

Cold fear crept up Ivan's throat. He could not avoid it. "Therapy." He closed his eyes, grabbed his scarf and pulled. Dammit. Damn this hospital, damn the people in it, damn it all to hell. Why would he say that? Why-

"I see. How is it?"

Slowly, Ivan opened his eyes. That did not sound standoffish or disgusted like he had half-expected it to. "It is fine." Maybe that was a lie, but he was too relieved to care. "Is quite chaotic, most of the time." Once the storm of panic swirling in his blood settled, Ivan was able to smile when he remembered what went on around him everyday.

"Is it?" There was laughter in Yao's voice, though he was obviously trying to hide it. Ivan's breath hitched at the sound. "I mean, I would think it is. What usually happens?"

Ivan supposed that telling him would not be a catastrophe. "Well, one of my roommates thinks he is two people, and the other is infatuated with unicorns." He probably should not have been as with the image amused as he was. "It is difficult to keep up with."

"Unicorns? Are you serious?" Yao sounded dangerously close to losing it completely. Ivan's heart was dangerously close to melting.

"Yes. My very first day, he asks me if I have seen this unicorn." Ivan thought back to his first day at the hospital. It felt about a thousand years away. His life before it felt even further in the distance.

"Well, did you?"

Ivan was instantly confused. "I am sorry?"

"The unicorn. Did you see it?" Yao's voice wavered in volume. He sounded as if he was having trouble getting the words out. "Maybe take it for a ride through the halls?"

"But…it is not real." Now Ivan was really lost. What an odd question. He stared blankly at the wall, waiting for an explanation but only hearing the strange choking noises Yao was making on the other line. After a long, strange pause, he said, "I am fairly certain I would crush the poor thing, Yao."

"My god, Ivan!" Like a lid blowing off a pot, Yao burst into wild, uncontrollable laughter. Ivan probably could have laughed too when he realized it had all been a joke, but the air had been stolen from his lungs. His chest clenched, his face flushed, his mind spun. It took all he had to keep from combusting. Through the strange, overwhelming swell of emotion, he could only be sure of two things. One; Yao's laugh was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Two; he had never felt… quite like this. He was not even sure what to call it. Things came back into focus when Yao stopped laughing and spoke again. "I apologize, I should not be laughing."

"It is fine," said Ivan immediately. He wondered why the hall was suddenly a good bit warmer.

Ivan could not rid himself of the confusion for the rest of the conversation. In fact, it only intensified. It intensified when his stomach twisted into fluttering knots, when his heart leapt to this throat, when he stammered over his words. He was only able to breathe again when Yao excused himself to handle something at his restaurant, though Ivan was sure he preferred the suffocating confusion to the disappointment. This was entirely different than the intoxicating rush of bliss he had felt that first day he saw him, worlds away from the panic when he left. This was far quieter. Yao was no longer a whimsical, overblown fantasy. Now, he was a reality just beyond his reach.

As he hung up the phone, Ivan finally understood why Yao had claimed what he felt was not actually love. But he was not sure how much longer that would be true.

.

Memory hit like a Russian blizzard- nothing all at all, and then everything at once.

Ivan felt strong hands touch his back, his face, hands that were too familiar and sent chills down his spine colder than the winds outside. This man was the embodiment of a Russian winter- cold, unforgiving, unstoppable. Ivan did not wish to remember him. But he was in the midst of his power anyway, reliving everything he thought he had forgotten. Strong hands moved to trembling, unwilling hips. Ivan tried to break away, but his body was too young and frail. He tried to put himself somewhere else, but his mind was the same.

Cloth pooled around his ankles, the man's body loomed over him, too large and strong and forceful. Ivan stopped breathing. Unable to get away, he was pinned, forced, filled unbearably with shame and panic and unbearable, searing pain. Tears fell to the ground below him, but he refused to cry out, refused to tell, refused to feel the blood trickling down his legs…

Ivan woke with what felt like a heart attack. His breathing too fast and too hard, his eyes darted around the room and for once he was thankful to be in the hospital. He was no longer a child, no longer in Russia, but the swell of terrifying emotion lingered still. He thought he had forgotten about this. He _needed _to have forgotten about this. He thought he had been successful, too…but it seemed as though his luck had run out.

When Ivan went to bed that night, he thought he was having a good day. He had spoken to Yao, avoided Gilbert, and spent time in his garden. All things considered, there was absolutely no reason for this dream, no reason to feel this way again. Through his racing thoughts he told himself that part of his life was over, that he was normal now. He wanted desperately to just be normal. But as the room turned on its side and his heart nearly burst in his chest, Ivan knew that he was anything but normal. Gilbert and Arthur were sleeping silently in the space around him. Ivan was the only one up, the only one in obvious distress. He was the abnormal. No matter how much he detested it, he was always the abnormal.

The air in the bedroom was hot tar. Ivan felt suffocated, on fire, helpless, so he did the only thing he could think to do- he got out of bed and wandered into the hallway. He had no purpose or destination. Maybe he wished to run from the memories, to forget them again even if he knew that was no longer possible. His body moved without the consent of his brain, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of the phone again. For a moment he considered calling Yao, but of course Yao could not see him like this. Ivan told himself to walk away, go back to his room and try again to forget. But he didn't. Before he even registered what he was doing, he dialed a number he wished he had forgotten.

The ringing was terrifying, the eventual voice was worse. That was true even if it was warm and feminine and familiar. "Hello?"

"Katyusha," was the last thing Ivan heard himself say. He closed his eyes, pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself, imagined miles of sunflowers, and said _everything. _

Ivan did not pause once. He did not breathe or think. He spoke on autopilot, not fully aware of the words passing his lips but entirely too aware of their meanings. The words were an inane jumble of Russian and English, of shouting, whispering and crying, of confessions and memories he never thought he would say aloud. With Katyusha rendered silent and Natalia shouting somewhere in the background, Ivan told them where he was and how he got there. He told them his diagnosis, told them the memories he had repressed and hidden, told them where each of his scars had come from. He spilled the side of himself he had managed to hide from them for years in a matter of sentences. He either spoke for minutes or hours- he could not even be sure.

By the end, Katyusha was shouting jumbles of desperate, trembling questions in a ridiculous mix of three languages. Natalia sounded to just be crying. But Ivan did not have the words to answer anything. His voice now even, he only said, "I have to go now. Please visit soon." Katyusha began a frantic response, but Ivan could only hang up.

With both hands, Ivan grabbed either end of his scarf and pulled will all the strength he had. He was only satisfied when it began to hurt. Then, all he could do was sink to the floor. He was not sure what else to do. He could not go back to his room, now that his dream had tainted it. He could not go home now that he likely disgusted his sisters, and he could not speak to Yao because he could not stomach it if Yao knew any of this. Ivan had no one, had nothing but his scars both mental and physical. For once, he did not fight the tears.

Through all of it came the last voice Ivan would ever want to hear. "Can't say I speak any Russian, but that didn't sound awesome."

Gilbert. Of course he would show up now, when Ivan was vulnerable and shaken and unable to defend himself. He looked away to hide his face. "What do you want?"

"Hey, I come in peace." Gilbert put his hands up and leaned against the wall. "Couldn't sleep, so I'm here. That's all there is to it."

Ivan hugged his knees to his chest. A light flickered at the end of the darkened hall. "Is it you, Gilbert, or is it-"

"I haven't transitioned today," said Gilbert, interrupting. His eyes flickered towards Ivan in the dark, free of malice or ulterior motives. "So what's up?" That kind of question would usually be casual, but Ivan knew it wasn't.

Ivan was not sure whether he should feel wary or downright offended. There was nothing good about the history between him and Gilbert, no matter how short it was. Who was he to ask Ivan anything that even resembled a personal question? "I thought you did not like me."

Gilbert shrugged. "I don't. That doesn't mean I'm going to kick you while you're down."

It was something about that- that everyday, simple mix of words- that got Ivan remembering again. He remembered the way he would _kick _his legs open, usually when he was already pinned _down. _He tried to will the image away only to realize it was burned into his thoughts, flashing before his eyes again and again and cutting into him like shards of glass. Maybe all of it was his fault, what if he had asked for it, what if… Seconds passed in the agony before he could nearly _feel _him. Then, the walls closed in.

Ivan told himself it was a ridiculous feeling in a final, desperate attempt to stifle the cold panic that shot up his throat. He lost the fight. Suddenly, the light flickering at the end of the hall was blinding, burning straight through his flesh. The air turned to rocks, his heart pounding so rapidly that his lungs almost shook. Everything hurt. Ivan was positive he was having a stroke, that his body was shutting down, that he was dying. There was no other explanation for this. He cupped his head in his hands and tried to hide, tried not to feel. _Don't get any closer…don't touch…_

"Ivan?" There was no emotion in Gilbert's voice. At least, Ivan could not detect any. "Okay, panic attack. Awesome."

Though Ivan had never heard the term before, it somehow felt appropriate. He did not even try to form a response. Instead, he focused on trying to breathe through a closed throat. He barely heard Gilbert continue to speak over the heartbeat in his ears. "Stand up."

"What?" Ivan did not trust his legs, did not trust Gilbert in general. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block it out.

"Oh, for the love of…" Gilbert trailed off. Before Ivan could even open his eyes, he felt himself being yanked upward by the arm and all but slammed against the wall. He nearly fought through the suffocating feeling enough to yell at this ridiculous, insane boy, but Gilbert was quicker. "It helps to have a flat surface. Just put your hands on the goddamn wall."

Ivan never would have obeyed such an order if he were anything less than desperate. But right now, that was exactly what he was. He pressed his palms flat against the wall, lowering his pounding head to rest against the cool surface. And he stayed like that until the memory stopped pounding into him, the ground steadied itself and the air returned to his lungs. He almost thanked Gilbert. He didn't.

He did not even remember Gilbert was still there until he spoke again. "Hold on."

The room slowly came back into focus, and Ivan remembered how to speak. "Where are you going?" Mostly, he hoped Gilbert would leave and never return. But a small, senseless part of him found the idea of standing alone in this hallway undesirable.

Gilbert turned around, a ghost of a scowl on his face. "I'm getting something." His jaw tensed and he looked away. "What I'm about to do isn't for you, alright? I'm doing it for me. You're just lucky enough to spectate."

Ivan glared right back, as if the past five minutes had never happened. To him, they might as well not have. "Do what you want."

Gilbert scoffed before walking down the hall, and Ivan sunk to the floor again. He could not be sure what time it was, whether it was late at night or early in the morning. This place had hardly any windows. It was like being locked in a metal box, cut off from everything and everyone in the outside world. If he was thankful for one thing, it was that none of the orderlies had noticed this train wreck of a situation. The last think he needed was for Matthew to catch wind of it and likely shove even more pills down his throat, probably stick him with yet another label. Ivan shut his eyes again and wondered what it would be like to be out of this place, maybe back at home, maybe even with Yao. He wondered what it was like to be ordinary.

Footsteps broke Ivan out of his fantasies. He opened his eyes and resumed an unreadable, neutral expression before glancing at Gilbert- who had inexplicably acquired what looked to be a flute. Gilbert sat cross-legged on the floor and shot Ivan a side-glance. "It used to calm my brother down," he muttered and then nearly shouted, "but this is for me, not anyone else. Especially not you."

Ivan nodded silently. He did not want it to be for him, even if he was just a bit intrigued. Maybe there was a bit more to this neurotic German than what met the eye- no, ridiculous. After a brief, tense moment of eye contact, Gilbert and Ivan looked away from each other simultaneously. Just a moment later, Ivan heard him begin to play. If he forgot it was Gilbert, he could almost say he was…talented. The song he was playing, though unfamiliar, was smooth and harmonic. It drove away Ivan's dream, his panic, the disgust he felt for himself. All that mattered were the lilting notes filtering past his ears.

The song was interrupted by another set of footsteps and a soft sigh. Ivan expected it to be a disgruntled orderly, but when he opened his eyes he saw that it was only Arthur. Arthur did not look annoyed. If anything, he looked just as forlorn as the rest of them. "This is a welcome change of pace," he nearly whispered. Then he sat against the wall beside of Ivan, exhaled as if he had been holding his breath, and closed his eyes. Ivan did the same.

Gilbert continued on, the music he was playing the only spark of life in the dim, lifeless hallway. Perhaps it was the only joyous thing in the entire building. Things continued on this way for what felt like an eternity, and there was only one last interruption. Both Ivan and Arthur turned to see Mathias, his eyes dark and his usually spiked hair limp and dead. This was not unusual. It seemed as though one day, Mathias was practically bouncing off the walls. The next, he struggled just to stay alive. Today, he was definitely the latter. Without uttering a word, he fell to the ground, laid his head against the cool linoleum, and mumbled something about Lukas before closing his eyes. Everyone kept his eyes closed from that moment on. It was as if they did not want to admit to each other they were in this together.

In the moments before Ivan fell asleep, he realized this moment of unity would be long forgotten when the sun rose over the horizon. He and Gilbert would be at each other's throats, finding new and crueler ways to trigger each other. Mathias would likely be back to screaming about Vikings, and Arthur would find new imaginary things to chant at. The next morning, they would all go back to hating each other for the sake of competing for the position of 'least troubled.' But right then, it was strikingly apparent how similar they really were.

Maybe none of them were crazy. Just hurting.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: I've decided to go ahead and bump the rating up to M- not for this chapter specifically, but for the difficult subject matter in the last chapter and in the future.**

* * *

><p>Just as expected, the hall cleared out the moment Gilbert decided to stop playing. Ivan, Mathias and Arthur got up and returned to their respective rooms without a word to each other, and Gilbert disappeared in the other direction. Ivan was able to fall asleep in his room, and this time, he dreamt only of Yao. For once, he was calm. The next morning, things went back to the tense, cold, unfriendly atmosphere they considered normal. It was comforting, somehow.<p>

But there was nothing normal or comforting about Matthew's sudden announcement that morning: In just a few days, they would be starting family therapy. Family members had already been notified, somehow, because privacy did not exist in this place. Oh well. Ivan was certain his sisters would not come. After the explosion that took place last night, why would they? Ivan did not even want them to come. He wanted to forget the phone call, forget he had told them anything, forget any of what he told them had even happened in the first place.

He removed these thoughts from his mind through simple means- whenever they passed through his mind, threatened to destroy his world again, Ivan did one of two things: tightened the scarf, or bit down on the inside of his mouth. He was only satisfied when he felt lightheaded or tasted blood. Days passed, and he could tell it was beginning to work. Ivan could sense it. Maybe he should not even be in this place. He could very easily take care of these little 'problems' himself. Actually, he was certain he should not be here. But no matter how well he was doing on his own, he continued to take the pills he was still suspicious of. They were becoming easier to swallow, almost a routine. He did it for Yao.

Eventually, the first day of this supposed 'family therapy' came around. Ivan was hardly concerned anymore. So while family members of other patients filtered in, he simply sat and observed. It was quite a sight when three men with varying shades of red hair burst in and nearly assaulted Arthur, speaking on top of each other with accents that all managed to be more obnoxious than his. A rather bored looking blond was barely able to make it through the door before Mathias pounced on him and kissed him in a way that was borderline obscene, only to be shoved off and sworn at moments later. Ivan chuckled. So this was Lukas. Poor thing.

Even Gilbert had company. It did not take long for Ivan to recognize the man who approached him- slicked blonde hair, stern expression, a presence that demanded more respect than he probably deserved. He remembered him from the first day he met Yao, from that one world changing, intense moment in the hallway. This man- Ludwig, if Ivan was remembering Matthew's frantic tone correctly- was the one to take Ivan away. He felt a spark of anger, but let it die. It was in the past. What amused him was how tense these two men were with each other. Ivan quickly came to the conclusion that they were brothers, but judging by the way they managed to glare at each other and pretend the other wasn't there at the same time, they might as well have been strangers if not archenemies. Laughter rose in his chest when he realized he would not have to deal with any of this-

"IVAN!"

Ivan suddenly did not feel like laughing anymore. For a moment, he did not move at all. He did not want to turn around, did not want to face what he once thought was impossible but had suddenly became inevitable. Time almost stopped, but it snapped into double speed when Ivan turned around, his chest seizing, to see Katyusha charging at him. Natalia followed at a much slower pace, her gaze locked on the floor and her features frozen. He was nowhere close to being over the shock when Katyusha suddenly embraced him. "Ivan, do you realize how worried we were?"

"I…" Ivan was glad they were speaking in Russian. He absolutely did not want anyone else in the room to hear this. "How did you get here?"

Katyusha dropped her arms, twisted around and waved frantically towards the door. Ivan followed her line of sight to see a perky, bespectacled young man waving back, a charismatic grin plastered across his face. "We flew in after you called. Oh, Ivan, it was such a trip! We thought we were stranded, and then Alfred…" She stopped speaking abruptly and turned back around. "None of that matters! When were you planning to tell us where you've been?"

Ivan was planning to never tell them. That had always been his plan, it had even been working quite well, but of course he had to ruin _everything _with one foolish night of weakness and insanity. Even though suspicions were likely to arise the moment he stopped sending money, he could have found a way around this. Of course he could have, but now he did not even have the choice. Ivan could nearly feel himself losing control. Anger burned in his gut as he grit his teeth. He should not have to deal with this, dammit!

"You should not have come." He took a step backwards, eyes narrowing. "That trip, it must have been dangerous. And to think you went with some _child…"_ Ivan shook his head and shot a look of disgust to the boy his sisters had apparently come in with, who was now babbling loudly in a grating American accent to a perplexed Arthur. He did not trust him with his sisters, and for some odd reason, he did not trust his sisters with him. Ivan could not even decide what powerful emotion was the strongest- anger, panic, or just plain confusion.

Natalia pushed Katyusha aside and spoke for the first time since entering the room. "Ivan, you cannot unload all of that information at once and expect us to ignore it."

Truthfully, Ivan had little to no recollection of what he said during that phone call. All he was fully aware of were the consequences that conversation had caused. Though it felt like fighting through a thick fog, he finally said, "You should not trouble yourselves with it."

Ivan's stomach clenched as Natalia dug her nails into his arm. She spoke in a whisper, though it should have been a yell. "Did you just tell us not to _trouble ourselves with-"_

But Matthew, who had once again come from nowhere, cut Natalia off. He felt Natalia pull her hand away, and for once Ivan was ecstatic to strain his ears in order to hear that too-quiet voice. "We're going to start the sessions soon. Do you want to go first?"

Maybe Ivan was not happy to hear him after all. His throat too dry to form a response, he glanced at Katyusha only to look away when he saw her face was pinched. He did not dare to look at Natalia. He felt trapped, as if he had somehow managed to back himself into a corner. It was an uncomfortable, foreign feeling, yet there was no way to deny it this time. With his hand clutching his scarf for dear life and a heavy dread in his stomach, he said, _"Da. _This is fine."

.

Ivan was certain Matthew's office had never been so warm, although he was also certain that was caused by his sister's eyes burning into his skin rather than the temperature itself. For far too long of a moment, no one said a word. Matthew simply stared at them with a hollow, meaningless sympathetic expression, as if all it took was a smile to erase the tension hanging in the air like knives. Of course that would not do anything, but he spoke as if it did. "Natalia, Katyusha, it's so lovely to finally meet you. How was your trip?"

Katyusha at least attempted a smile, though it was small and wary. "Oh, it was-"

"Long, and terrible," interrupted Natalia. Her accent was still thick. It reminded Ivan of places, people from a long time ago.

Ivan fought an entire war within himself, all for the purpose of maintaining a smile. It was the last normal thing in this mess of abnormality. "You did not need to come." He twisted his scarf around in his hands, so tightly his knuckles turned white as snow. Then he tilted his head and smiled a bit brighter, lied a bit more. "Everything is fine."

Katyusha stopped smiling with a heavy sigh. She turned to Ivan, face unreadable, and said, "Things are obviously far from fine, Ivan."

Ivan crinkled his nose, disgusted and nervous but completely unwilling to show it. "I do not know what you are talking about."

Natalia huffed and rolled her eyes. "I always knew something was wrong with him…" Her voice faded out. It wasn't very loud to begin with, but to Ivan, she might as well have been shouting. He heard her just fine, loud enough to make the words echo in his ears and clear enough to boil his blood.

In an attempt to maintain the authority he knew he deserved, Ivan squared his shoulders. He was still smiling, so he was still in control. "What?"

"Guys," said Matthew, just about as loudly as it was possible for him to be. "Let's try and make this a positive experience, okay?"

That ship had sailed some time ago. However, Ivan was willing to listen to whatever nonsense Matthew had to say as long as it kept his sisters from speaking. So even though there was a storm raging beneath his skin, he looked at the boy and smiled without uttering a word.

Matthew laid his hands on his knees. "Alright. Natalia, Katyusha, why don't we start by discussing your feelings towards the current circumstances?"

"My English in not best, forgive me." Katyusha smiled in a way no one could be annoyed with. Usually, that smile was comforting. Now it was just unnerving. She folded her hands in her lap and lifted her eyes slowly, carefully to meet Matthew's. "I would say it is overwhelming, mostly. We learned Ivan was here only days ago."

Matthew shot Ivan a quizzical, if not slightly accusatory side-glance. Ivan quickly looked away and pretended not to see. He did not know where to look, what to do, how to slow his pulse or how to escape this. He settled on picking at the fraying ends of his scarf while Matthew spoke. "That's understandable. Natalia, how about you? What do you think about-"

But of course, he was cut off. "Overwhelming? He dropped off the face of the planet. I would say _overwhelming_ is an understatement." Natalia crossed her arms and glared directly at him. Ivan's stomach dropped to his feet when he realized everyone in the room was now staring directly at him, like he was a fish in a bowl. "Not to mention what you told us."

Ivan's pulse accelerated even further, now beating so quickly it was threatening to explode beneath his feverish skin. They knew too much. Everyone is this damn room knew too much, pushed too far, stared too intently. He needed to get out of this room, get out of his head. Oh god, he needed to escape, this needed to end…

Matthew tilted his head. "What did you tell them, Ivan?"

"I…" Ivan locked his trembling hands together. He had little recollection of that phone call. At least, he thought he did. Suddenly he remembered every detail, every confession he regretted more than anything, every question and scar and _memory…_He closed his eyes briefly, a sad and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to clear his mind. "I do not remember." It was a lie he wished was the truth.

"How can you not remember?" Katyusha's voice was teetering on the edge of being strained, the calm in her eyes obviously artificial.

Ivan's gaze switched between his sisters, Matthew, and finally the window. The only thing that managed to even his breathing was a fleeting fantasy of jumping from it. His pulse was so heavy it shook his lungs, numbed his mind. He attempted to speak through a closed throat. "I just..." No, he was normal, everything was normal, nothing was wrong with him, _nothing…_ "I do not remember. Everything is fine." The last sentence was almost unconscious.

"Nothing about this is fine, Ivan!" Natalia's face burned a sudden, angry red. Ivan shrunk in his seat, his skin clammy and ice cold. He wondered where the air had disappeared to, why the room was spinning…

Matthew cut through the chaos. Ivan had nearly forgotten he was still in the room. "Guys, if you would please calm down…"

"How am I supposed to calm down? Really, how am I supposed to react when my brother calls us in the middle of the day and tells us he was-"

Ivan felt an explosive zing of panic, strong enough to be blinding, deafening. He was not even relieved when Katyusha stopped her from speaking by grapping her arm and mumbling something in Russian. He lost the ability to even understand her words, or breathe, or think, or stop his vision from tunneling into a twist of colors he could hear and sound he could see-

Matthew spoke slowly, too slowly. "What exactly did he tell you?" He did not even bother to address Ivan anymore. In a way, Ivan was relieved. He was incapable of answering.

Katyusha's face went a shade paler. "Well, it is a bit of a long story. I suppose I could start with-"

"Ivan was raped!"

Silence. After the muck of conflicting voices had stopped with Natalia's world ending, nauseating words, the room was suddenly filled with it. It was thunderous, deadly, and the only thing Ivan could hear above the heartbeat flooding his ears. His scarf was not tight enough. The teeth digging into his cheek were not sharp enough. Like a dam that had finally burst, it was all in the open, cutting him like glass and twisting him into odd shapes. He could not be sure if he felt ill or panicked, but the emotion pulsed through his veins and stopped his heart.

Without warning, everything was still. Ivan did not even realize he had stood until he began to speak. "This is done." He said the words above everyone's heads, finally taking control. "All of this, it is done now. Girls, please go home."

Matthew looked up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. "Ivan, I think it's pretty critical that we discuss this."

"No." Ivan shook his head. He was not sure when or if he stopped. "No, that will not be necessary. Everything is fine. I am fine."

Natalia shot to her feet, rivaling the control Ivan had finally gained. "_Ivan_."

For once, her chilling tone and hard gaze did not unnerve Ivan in the slightest. He felt cold, numb, unable to feel or think anything. He felt as if the blood had been drained from his body, right along with every emotion he had ever had. He lifted his gaze, narrowed his eyes and looked at her through lowered lashes. During the silence that followed, he could at least pretend to feel calm, collected, and in control. He even smiled again. The familiar emptiness pooling in his gut did not even matter. "Go home, little sister."

And again the silence. Matthew let out a soft, resigned sigh, Natalia took a careful step back, and Katyusha grasped her arm. Ivan was caught between equally powerful urges to cry out joyfully or dissolve into tears, so he only kept smiling. He said it was over, so it ended. Things were finally as they should be… on the surface, anyway.

Less than an hour later, the calamity that filled the hospital filtered out into something normal. Natalia and Katyusha were the first to depart, followed by the three red-haired men. The last to leave was Ludwig, who rushed out of Matthew's office with a flushed face and balled fists. Ivan would have amused himself imagining what could have happened between him and Gilbert if he did not feel so completely, painfully empty. It was not that he was not used to the feeling. In fact, he knew it better than anything else.

Only this time, it burned deeper. Ivan felt hollow, unreal, almost as if he were a ghost. Time moved in slow motion around him. The sky had darkened from the other side of the window, but he was partially sure he was only imagining it until the rain started. Ivan followed a drop of water with his eyes, then another, then another, and repeated the process until he was no longer thinking. Once this grew tiresome and ineffective, he forced himself on his feet though his limbs felt heavy. He would not have bothered to move unless he had an important, undeniable purpose, and he had one.

This time, he was fully aware of the number he was dialing when he picked up the phone.

.

When the phone started ringing and shattered the silence in his office, Yao promptly dropped the box he was carrying on his foot. Great. He already had his throbbing head to deal with, and now he had gone and hurt his foot. Cursing under his breath, he kicked his desk chair aside and collapsed against it. Figures. Just when he was about to leave after working for far too long, there was yet another thing to do. Damn these solicitors. He was nearly sure it was one of them, if not a coworker. He supposed there was a slim chance it was Kiku, though Yao had hardly been speaking to his brother lately. He sincerely hoped it was the latter, considering he was in absolutely no mood to deal with anything else business related that day. It had been a long, long week.

Without even bothering to check the caller ID, Yao picked up the phone, slammed the TALK button with far more force than necessary, and tried not to sound as annoyed as he felt. "Hello?"

There was not an immediate answer. Yao sighed and nearly hung up, but the voice that followed the silence broke his annoyance to pieces. "Yao." There was a heavy, weighted sigh. "Thank you for picking up, Yao."

Yao was rendered speechless. He had not expected it to be Ivan, and even if he had, he would not have expected him to sound so dejected. His voice usually rose and fell like soap bubbles, usually popped in bursts of lilting laughter. Now, he sounded as if he had just woken up after sleeping a decade. Yao could not deny the drop in his stomach. "Ivan? Is everything alright?"

"Not exactly, no." Ivan's response was concerning in itself. If Yao knew one thing about him, it was that he never admitted to anything being less than perfect. If there was an apocalypse raging behind his back, Ivan would likely smile and say everything was fine. Yao said nothing, waiting for an explanation for such odd behavior. And by God, he got that explanation. "My sisters just left."

"Oh." Yao drummed his fingers against the wood of the desk. He swallowed hard and stared blankly at the wall in front of him, as if the answers would be written somewhere on it. "Did you tell them?" The question was intentionally open-ended.

"Sort of. Is a bit of a long story, really…" And it was obvious Ivan did not want to tell that long story, because his voice faded out before he could even finish the sentence. His voice was even quieter when he continued. "Can you visit?"

What a difference a few weeks made. After the first time he had visited, Ivan practically demanded that Yao come back. Now, he sounded nothing less than timid simply asking. Yao felt an ache in his chest, one that he could not blame entirely on sympathy. "I mean…" He glanced at the clock sitting on his desk and saw it was nearly six in the evening. In all honesty, all he had wanted to do all day was go home and collapse in his bed. The idea suddenly felt like a waste of time. "Sure. I just finished up at work."

"You are amazing, Yao." Ivan's voice broke, and for a split second he almost sounded how he usually did. That did not last. "I will see you soon?" It was almost a question, a bit too hopeful to just be a statement.

"Yes." Yao could not even shock himself with his eagerness anymore. "I will see you soon."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" Ivan broke off, though he sounded as if he could have gone on forever. "I will see you, sunflower."

Though the pet name was silly and familiar, Yao felt a suspicious quickening in his pulse. It took him a moment to remember to respond. "See you."

Despite feeling overwhelmingly fatigued just minutes before, Yao found himself filled with a sudden energy the moment he set the phone down. He was caught between being perplexed by the mood swing and wishing things could just make sense again. Where had his careful, guarded hesitance about all of this gone? He supposed it had left right around the time his sanity did, right along with the logic, reason and dependability of his life before all of this had started. But Yao did not miss any of that. It was unreasonable at best and downright insane at worst, but all Yao missed was the sound of Ivan's laugh.

.

The rain was heavy and cold by the time Yao reached the hospital. The sky had turned a rather threatening shade of green, broken up by dark, low clouds that he used as an excuse for his hurried pace. The weather seemed like fairly obnoxious setup for everything that had just occurred- Yao's too long week, Ivan's too low voice, all fueled by too strong emotion that made too little sense. Yao only worsened it by walking too quickly under the too dark sky.

The psychiatric unit was even quieter than usual. All doors in sight were shut tight, not a soul in the commons, as if each and every one of them was hiding from something. The only prevalent sound was the rain pounding evenly against the window. Yao felt a vague sense of wrongness as he entered the silent, empty room. It felt like intruding. "Ivan?" He spoke as quietly as possible, but it still felt too loud.

"Evening."

Yao had not thought to look at the far wall. His head snapped in the direction of the voice, the one that was not excitable or sweet or chilling. If anything, Ivan sounded very, very real. Yao suddenly could think of nothing to say, so he simply repeated, "Evening."

Ivan did not move his gaze from the window, did not even flinch when a loud crack of thunder cut through the silence. Yao, however, had to bite back a gasp at the sudden sound. Ivan must have heard, because he turned to him. His eyes were too dark, too dead, and his missing smile was far too apparent. "Thank you for coming." He spoke as if they had never met. But without warning, he looked away and gave a short, dry laugh. "This weather, it is very fitting."

"I suppose it is." Yao forced himself to lift his gaze. This was far too strange, too unnerving. "How are you doing?" It was too hollow a question. It was all he could say.

Ivan looked out the window again. Yao finally realized he must have been looking at the garden. "We cannot go outside today." He said nothing else, almost as if he had not even heard the question. Maybe to him, that statement was all he needed to answer it.

Frozen, Yao nodded once. "I see."

"And Matthew is using his office."

Another crack of thunder, another half-hearted nod. "I see."

Lightening hit, and for a moment there was nothing but blinding white. Yao did not dare to move as the dark returned and Ivan's expression faded from a cold, robotic grimace to a tired frown. The distance between them seemed even more considerable. "It has not been best day." Ivan was close to whispering. He looked away and cleared his throat. "Can I…hug you, Yao?"

Yao was beginning to wonder if Ivan was even the same person he met in the hallway all those weeks ago. He was fairly sure he himself was not the same person either, because it did not even occur to him to answer any differently than he did. "That… would be fine."

It was amazing just how different a simple hug could be. Yao did not feel fear when warm arms embraced him, did not feel suffocated, did not feel unwilling. If anything, he felt comforted as Ivan pulled him slowly against his chest. The stress of the week forgotten, he allowed himself to lower his head against the soft fabric of the scarf Ivan never seemed to take off. It was warm against his face, and smelled faintly of spice and soil from the garden outside. He wondered how such a small detail had become so familiar, even calming. The sound of the rain grew louder, heavier, and Yao's pulse followed suit not long after. But he barely felt it. Fatigue blurred the corners of his vision, drove the last of his logic from his mind. Ivan was comfortable, sturdy, and Yao was tired. Just tired. This had already gone on for far too long, yet he had no real desire to pull away. He was not sure he even had the ability.

"Thank you for coming," said Ivan again. The words fell hot against Yao's neck, and he fought back the ridiculous urge to shudder.

"No problem…" Yao's voice was equally as quiet. His original plan for the day was to go home and take a very long nap, and somehow, this was just as if not more calming. He fought to keep his eyes open, but he was quickly losing the battle. This was completely unreasonable, yet he didn't have the energy to care.

Ivan running his hand down his back in slow, rhythmic movements was not helping the matter, either. "You are tired."

Was it really that obvious? Oh well. It was a long, stressful week, and Yao was running on about four hours of sleep. Sue him. He tried to form a response, but it came out as more of an intelligible groan. He should have been embarrassed, should have pulled away, but exhaustion has a way of shrouding reason.

"That is…" Ivan's voice wavered. "Adorable."

Yao almost found the will to speak, if only for the purpose of reminding Ivan that he, a thirty-two year old man, was definitely not cute. He did not have time. Before he could even open his eyes voluntarily, the loudest crack of thunder there ever was filled the room and nearly shook the walls. Yao broke out of his trance with a jolt, yelped, and jumped backwards at the same time. As he fought to even his breath, Ivan pressed his hand to his mouth and began to laugh.

It took Yao a moment to get back into his head, and when he did, he was absolutely mortified_. _Not only had he nearly fallen asleep on Ivan's chest for reasons that were beyond him, but he also managed to make a complete fool of himself over something as petty and stupid as thunder during a storm. He was caught between equally powerful urges to either smack himself or go find a rock to hide under, so he settled on flushing a deep scarlet and looking away. "Oh, for the love of…" His words dissolved into a stream of meaningless vulgarities.

Now matter how humiliated he was, his could not deny that his chest felt light upon hearing Ivan laugh and seeing his smile again. Despite all of that, Ivan managed to sound faintly concerned. "Have you not been sleeping, Sunflower?"

"Not really," said Yao honestly. His embarrassment fading, he rubbed his eyes to clear his blurring vision. "I've been working a lot of double shifts."

Ivan's eyes narrowed. "This does not sound healthy."

Of course it wasn't. That hardly made it any less true. Yao shrugged in place of an adequate response, his thoughts slowed and disjointed. Finally, he said, "I'm used to it. It's fine, really."

"You do not seem fine." Yao could feel Ivan looking at him, both too close and too far away. Through the darkness and fatigue and strange, misplaced nerves, he could feel his skin burn at he realization he was being studied. "Maybe you should go home." There was reluctance in Ivan's voice, in his eyes, but he sounded as if he meant it.

If anything, it felt like an abrupt, inexplicable role reversal. "Are you sure?" Yao tried to ignore the dangerous sway beneath his feet. "I thought you wanted to talk about your sisters, or…Gilbert, or something. Didn't you say something? You say a lot of things." Maybe he was more tired than he thought. He was aware he was not making sense, and even more aware of the guilt.

"We can talk later. Besides, this storm will only get worse." Ivan smiled, albeit faintly. Yao met his gentle gaze, endeared if not a bit startled by his legitimate concern.

"Well-" But Yao had no time to revel in the emotion or even finish his thought, because he was cut off by Matthew's office door being thrown open with a loud clatter. From it emerged a teary-eyed Gilbert, who nearly tripped over his own feet before bolting off in the other direction. Matthew emerged seconds later, looking dazed if not in physical pain. For a split second he turned to face Ivan and Yao, a suspicious mark taking residence on the side of his face, mouth agape. The fleeting moment passed. Matthew shouted something intangible as he ran off in Gilbert's direction.

Ivan looked down the hallway with a blank expression, blinked once, then broke away with a short laugh. "Is probably best you get out of here. It is chaos."

Yao couldn't exactly deny that. However, he had no choice but to deny that he did not want to leave. "Alright, then."

Ivan brought his hand to the small of Yao's back, his touch firm but unthreatening. "I will walk with you."

A response came easier this time. "Sure."

The hall lights were flickering by the time they reached the elevator. Explosions of lightening turned the night sky into something closer to day, and blasts of thunder filled the halls nearly simultaneously. The winds outside had grown deafening. Yao ignored it. Ivan did not. "Are you sure you will be safe getting home?" he asked as the doors opened. It seemed to take longer than usual.

Yao considered this and vaguely wondered if it would be a better idea to take the stairs, but his fatigue was only growing and it seemed too impossible a feat. So, against his better judgment, he entered the elevator. He had to get home. It was not as if he had a choice. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Ivan looked at him warily, but ultimately said nothing and stepped inside. Yao barely noticed. He jammed the button for a ground floor and fought the urge to hold his breath as the door closed. For a moment, he nearly forgot Ivan was so close. He was too busy watching the blinking numbers above the door count down to one, wishing they would go faster, wishing this stupid box were a lot bigger. He had never liked elevators. He would not go as far as to say he feared them; it was more that he did not trust them. Perhaps it was silly. After all, he was sure nothing could go wrong.

As if the very thought had triggered it, the flickering light above them threatening to go out finally did. The elevator hitched, jumped, and finally stopped completely with a gut-twisting groan. Yao stumbled backwards as the ground leapt, unable to see or think or register what had just happened. The breath he had managed to catch was knocked away again when he felt strong arms surround him. Ivan spoke too calmly. "Oh. It is stuck."

"Stuck?" Yao was hit with a cold dose of reality. He realized very quickly that he was trapped in a pitch-black, inescapable room the size of a damn closest with none other than Ivan. He reached blindly in front of him and hit a random button, as if that would somehow do something. Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened, of course Ivan was still holding him upright because he would likely fall otherwise, and of course Yao could suddenly not breathe. This was bad. No, this was disastrous. Cool sweat pricked the back of his neck. "How can it be stuck?"

"I suspect the power has gone out." Slowly, Ivan pulled his arm away. Yao immediately missed the stability. Even in this total, engulfing darkness, he could still feel Ivan's eyes on him. That did nothing to steady his breathing. "Does this make you nervous, Yao?"

"No," said Yao far too quickly to be believable. He could pretend he was fine all he wanted to, but he could not ignore the unsteadiness of his legs or the rush in his pulse. And for once, it was not because of Ivan. This was ridiculous. He had been completely certain he had left this petty fear behind in his childhood. If that was true, why were the walls closing in? Why was his head swimming? The elevator was suddenly far too hot. Yao felt disoriented, lost, unable to think logically or breathe evenly and for the love of God he should not feel this way-

Ivan was either whispering or shouting. Yao could not be entirely sure. His words made even less sense. "Hands on wall."

Yao was certain he was either hearing him incorrectly or losing his mind completely. Somehow, he had more faith in the latter. "Hands…what?" It was somewhat of a struggle to say.

"Put your hands…" But Ivan stopped speaking, as if he had given up. It took Yao far too long to realize Ivan was touching him, making him feel even warmer, holding his hands and…bringing them against the wall. Yao forgot about his panic just long enough to be incredulous. "It helps to have flat surface," said Ivan quietly. He was hovering above Yao, still touching his hands, still worrying and still making him feel strangely better. "Please take deep breaths."

It did not take Yao long to realize Ivan was trying to help him. He had seen through his front, sensed his fear, and cared enough to do something about it. A single logical thought cut through the jumble of nonsensical ones, one that managed to be more unnerving than any of them: Ivan was not simply obsessed with Yao anymore. He genuinely, truly, deeply cared about him, for whatever reason. As his breathing evened, his heartbeat slowed and the walls stopped closing in, Yao realized something else: He could not say he did not return those affections.

Minutes passed before Ivan spoke again. "You are feeling better?"

Slowly, Yao let his hands fall against his sides. He wondered if today could possibly get any more embarrassing. "Yes," he said. "I apologize."

"No, is fine. I understand." His eyes haven adjusted to the dark, Yao could faintly make out Ivan's smile falling. His voice dipped in a similar fashion. "Completely…" He shook his head quickly, smiled again and sunk to the floor. "Sit with me, Yao? It seems we will be here awhile."

Despite the brief moment of madness and excitement, Yao was still tired beyond belief. He said nothing as he sat beside Ivan, perhaps too close, perhaps too far away. He all but forgot how small the space was. It was incredible just how still everything felt. It felt almost otherworldly to not be able to see, words and movement unnecessary. Everything had been so fast lately. It felt nice to slow down. With the embarrassment, confusion and momentary fear a thing of the past, Yao could finally relax. Relaxing, in Ivan's presence… he would have called it crazy just weeks ago. He was not even sure how it had gotten this way. Yao almost laughed, but instead he let out a long breath as his eyes fluttered closed.

"I think I would like to tell you something, sunflower."

Well, at least he had been able to relax for a moment. Yao half-considered keeping his eyes closed, but Ivan's words were too careful, too quiet for him to do that. So he opened his eyes despite there being only darkness around him, turned in Ivan's general direction and gave his full attention. He tried to ignore the drop in his stomach and the fluttering nerves in his chest. "And what would that be?"

Though Ivan stalled, things began to move quickly again. Yao's pulse sped up again from nervous anticipation alone, right along with his breath and his thoughts. Not being able to see Ivan's expression made it even worse. "I am a bit nervous," said Ivan finally with an awkward, obviously feigned burst of laughter.

"That's okay." Yao pulled his knees into his chest. "We all get nervous, after all." He could definitely testify to that, both right then and a few minutes earlier.

The only audible sound was the long, trembling breath Ivan took. "Well, sunflower, I suppose you could say I am not completely normal." Yao felt his stomach plummet straight to his feet. He never would have expected Ivan to say anything close to that. He waited for him to continue with baited breath. "The other day, Matthew told me I have, oh, what was the silly phrase…" He paused for a moment after, and Yao grew suspicious that he had not actually forgotten. Ivan finished so quietly he could barely be heard in the silent elevator. "Borderline personality disorder?"

Yao was not entirely familiar with the term, but he knew enough about it to only be faintly surprised. After all, it would be simply foolish not to suspect Ivan had _something. _"Oh," he said. "Well, alright."

Ivan turned to face him. Yao's pounding heart did not slow; rather, it only sped up. "This does not bother you?" He sounded breathless, unbelieving.

Yao shook his head lightly. He did not feel shocked or frightened, just… sympathetic. The emotion was so overwhelming it nearly hurt. Words left him. Maybe it was exhaustion, insanity, or a foreign, implacable emotion that burned stronger than fire, but all he could think to do was reach blindly into the darkness until their hands met. "No." Ivan held tighter to his hand as Yao said the word. His touch was strong and warm and dangerous against his skin. It was something impossible to be bothered by. "No, it does not bother me at all."

"Oh." The word was barely a breath. Ivan was close, closer than Yao had ever allowed him to get or admitted he wanted him to be. They made eye contact slowly, hesitantly. For a fleeting moment of insanity Yao wondered if Ivan could see directly into his thoughts and sense exactly what he wanted to happen, what he had not even dared to think about, what he had denied and buried and pushed into a part of his mind he would rather ignore. He needed to look away. He needed to end this before it went a step further. That was the only logical thing to do…

Oh, forget it. Yao was tired of being cautious and logical and _unhappy. _So he threw it all to the wind, forced his hand to steady as he touched Ivan's cheek, closed the torturous gap between them and met his lips. Ivan gasped, pulling back slightly, and for a brief moment Yao wondered if _he _was the one being too bold for once- something he never thought possible in a relationship started by nothing other than a bold, insane moment in a hallway. But his doubt was erased when Ivan grasped his shoulders, firmly but not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt anymore, and deepened the kiss.

Yes, this was it. No matter the circumstances, how foolish it all was or the severity of Ivan's condition, there was no other place Yao wanted to be than right here, right now, in this claustrophobia-triggering elevator in the middle of the storm of the century. He wanted nothing more than to be held by strong hands, looked at like he was the world and kissed like he was cared about. Ivan was that special thing, that something wonderfully different if not a bit risky that he had waited his entire life to find. Yao quickly realized when he brushed Ivan's chest that his heart was threatening to burst straight from it, that Ivan was stiff and unsure and _nervous. _It was otherworldly. It was exhilarating. "It's okay," he whispered, mere centimeters from his lips. Yes, this was more than okay. It was fantastic. Yao did not have the heart to consider anything else. "It's okay…" He kissed him again, both unwilling and unable to stop. How nice it felt to be in control for once.

Maybe it lasted for seconds and maybe it lasted for hours. Time lost its relevance, reality lost its meaning, and it was not until they broke away that Yao's mind cleared. Good lord, what had he just done? What on earth had he _started? _

"Yao," said Ivan, the word a statement in itself. He was probably confused. Yao certainly was. "I know you said not to before, but…would saying 'I love you' be appropriate?"

Through his knotted mess of thoughts, Yao wondered how on earth he had gotten himself in this situation and why he had no desire to get out of it. "I suppose it would be." He half-regretted his response but was hardly surprised by it. He went back to his original position on the floor, mortified but as much as he should be, and most of all, just tired. What a day it had been. Carefully, he rested his head against Ivan's broad shoulder and closed his eyes for what felt like the eightieth time. His mind was a mess. All he wanted was to clear it, possibly flat out ignore his feelings and the circumstances alike. "Who knows when someone will fix this damned thing? I think I'm going to rest." It felt far too casual a statement. It was not as if he would actually be able to get any rest after all of that.

Ivan flicked his scarf to the side, allowing it to fall in Yao's lap. Yao ran his hand absently over the soft fabric. "I love you, sunflower," he said cheerfully, as though he had been waiting to say it for several eternities. "I love you!"

Yao remained silent, pretending he was already asleep though the ache in his chest made it impossible. He was not ready to repeat the words, not at all. That was not to say he didn't feel them.

And that was terrifying.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	9. Chapter 9

For a strange few seconds after he woke fully dressed in his bed the next morning, little to no memory of how he got there, Yao was entirely, undeniably certain all of last night had been a dream. There was no other explanation for such foolish, out of character behavior. But reality hit like a nasty hangover a moment later, and Yao remembered _everything. _He remembered the hug, remembered his anxiety attack, remembered Ivan's diagnosis, and most of all remembered that kiss. Every emotion he had foolishly allowed himself to feel the night prior crashed into him at once before he could even open his eyes. At least drinking gave him the luxury of blacking out. This type of hangover left him with nothing but humiliation and confusion.

It came back little by little, though some pieces were still missing. For one, Yao had no idea how long they were actually in that elevator. He only vaguely remembered falling asleep, dreaming of nothing, then eventually being awoken by a loud metallic creak and a rush of artificial light. Ivan had woken up with him, said 'I love you' again, and scared the strange looks off the technicians with a gentle smile. Yao was too deep in his half-asleep haze to remember what kind of goodbye he had said or even if he had said anything at all. Considering he did not remember the drive at all, it was a miracle he made it home without crashing. He almost wished he had, no matter how dramatic that was.

Getting out of bed was a herculean effort. After mulling over his rushing thoughts and memories for far too long, Yao sat up and rubbed the passing images from his eyes. At least he didn't have to go into work today. He was entirely certain he would not be able to take it. Come to think of it, he wondered if Kiku was working today. They hadn't spoken in quite some time. Maybe they could meet up, or maybe just talk…any type of distraction was welcome.

The phone rang for what felt like far too long. Yao assumed he was busy and pulled the phone from his ear, but Kiku answered seconds before it cut to voicemail. Funny, he was usually rather prompt. "Oh, ah, hello?" He usually did not sound so disjointed, either.

"Morning, Kiku. It's Yao." With any luck, Yao did not sound quite as preoccupied as he felt. "We haven't spoken in awhile. How have you been?"

"Oh, hello Yao. I have been meaning to call you," said Kiku. "I have been fine. Things have been quite busy."

"Tell me about it." Yao looked to the pile of paperwork on his desk and grimaced. Did his work always have to follow him home? He quickly came to the conclusion that yes, it did, considering Ivan was supposed to be work and look how that ended up and dammit he did not need to be thinking these things right now. "Hey, Kiku, are you busy today? Maybe we could meet up."

"Well, I do have part of today off, but…" Kiku trailed off, and Yao narrowed his eyes. He sounded awfully hesitant. "I am sorry, Yao. I actually have other plans."

"Do you now?" Yao was fairly surprised. Usually when Kiku was free from work, which was not often at all, he was holing himself up at home with his silly comic books. He smiled when he realized that could very well be what he meant. "Reading manga hardly constitutes as having plans, Kiku."

"Very funny," said Kiku flatly. "That is not what I was referring to. I am actually going to a cat shelter."

Yao blinked. That seemed a bit out there. "A cat shelter? Why?"

"It is for a patient." Kiku seemed to choose his words carefully.

"Okay…" Yao decided not to ask. He would figure it out later, he supposed. "How about later this week, then?"

"That sounds fine." Kiku paused. "Do you think you could meet me inside again?"

It seemed like an odd request, considering how disastrous it had been the first time Yao agreed to navigate that hospital. Well, perhaps it was not _too _disastrous, considering… for the love of god this needed to end. "Only if you give me directions this time. I don't want to get lost again." He chose to omit the fact that he had grown to know the place like the back of his hand. After all, Kiku was still ignorant to how he had been spending his time. Yao had no desire to change that.

"Alright. I can do that." Kiku paused again, as if to be just as lost in thought as Yao was. But maybe he was simply projecting his own feelings onto his brother. In fact he was so lost in thought that he scarcely heard Kiku continue to speak. "How have you been?"

The question caught Yao off guard. How had he been? After last night, he could not even decide if he was awful or terrific, if he was terrified or just plain overwhelmed. He settled on a throwaway response. "I have been fine, I suppose."

"Are you sure?"

Yao swallowed hard. Damn Kiku and his perceptiveness. "Yes, why?" He made an attempt to sound flippant that he hoped was successful.

"No reason. See you in a few days, then."

Before Yao even had a chance to say goodbye, the line went dead. Once he hung up as well, he was able to forget his own qualms long enough to realize something was off. Kiku had been so distant lately. Yao could even go as far as to say he was being secretive. Sooner or later, he would have to figure out what that was about. That was his job as an older brother, after all. But what could he possibly be hiding…

Yao broke out of his thoughts with what felt like a punch to the face when he turned towards his calendar, perched directly above the phone as if to mock him. Written neatly, too neatly, was an appointment he had made some time ago. He had made it with Dr. Williams. It was an appointment to see Ivan. Today.

Yao could not say he was too upset, which was upsetting in itself.

.

The last time Yao felt this nervous before entering the hospital, it was the very first time he visited. That day felt like something that had happened in another life, or a distant memory conjured by his imagination alone, or perhaps a fever dream. The last thing it felt like was reality. He felt a lot older now, if that was even possible. In the time he spent staring at the building, fighting off feelings of déjà-vu, he considered going back. He considered getting in his car, driving home, cancelling everything, forgetting everything and moving on. It would not be unreasonable. It would not even be all that hard. Not physically, anyway.

Yao walked inside when he realized that would not be the case mentally.

Unlike the night before, the psychiatric ward was well lit, occupied by more than two people, not at all eerie and definitely not romantic. There was nothing to suggest anything important had happened there recently- except perhaps Yao's expression. The white haired man he assumed was Gilbert was still staring at him, his expression a mix of sadness, anger and…envy. Yao quickly looked away and unconsciously began to search for Ivan. Maybe he had forgotten, maybe he thought last night was just as ridiculous as Yao wanted to believe it was…

"My beautiful Yao! How are you today?"

An unwelcome ache spread across Yao's chest as he felt Ivan embrace him again, his words cheerful and strong hold too familiar. He had hoped this would not make him feeling anything. It did. Once he realized that, he forced himself to pull away, slightly breathless. "I'm…" Yao cleared his throat, scrambling for an answer. There were a lot he could have gone with: dazed, panicked, maybe strangely, unreasonably excited… "Still kind of tired." At least it was not a lie.

Ivan laughed lightly. He was always laughing, but this time it seemed to have more behind it. His smile was brighter, more genuine. "Last night was madness, _da? _Wonderful madness." Well, that wasn't really a lie either. "Are you feeling better after sleep?"

_No._ "A bit." Yao kept his eyes locked on the floor, unwilling to meet Ivan's gentle gaze. If he looked at him, let his resolve slip for the briefest moment, he knew there would be no going back. He ignored the voice in his head that screamed he had already crossed that line some time ago. That he had leapt over that line when he gave Ivan his phone number. That after last night, the line was no longer visible. Before he could reign in his thoughts, he found himself back in that elevator, back in Ivan's arms, feeling things he definitely shouldn't… and that was when he realized Ivan had gotten quite close and was very likely looking to repeat it.

Yao took a large step backwards and nearly tripped. "SO!" he shouted, loud enough that everyone in the room turned to look at him. Considering there really was no way this could possibly get any more humiliating, he forced himself to look up, forced about a hundred hidden feelings and urges to remain hidden, and tried to sound casual. "How is your garden?"

"Wet." Ivan laughed again at that, and Yao could not help but grin. "At least I will not have to water today! Would you like to go outside?"

"That sounds nice." Since Yao felt mentally suffocated, fresh air sounded necessary. He was sure he would collapse otherwise. The feeling only intensified when Ivan tried to take his hand. Yao quickly shoved his hands into his pockets.

.

The garden was in remarkable shape considering the weather the night before. The damage was minimal, limited to a few muddy patches of grass and a slight scattering of loose petals. Still, sitting on the same bench as last time, Yao watched as Ivan fussed over a single storm-tossed flower. "It's only one, Ivan," he said after some time.

"I know." Ivan was crouched on the ground, the limp stem of a lily pinched gently between his fingers. "I feel bad for the little thing, is all."

Now that Ivan's back was to him, Yao did not fight the urge to smile. Watching Ivan fuss over a petty plant nearly allowed him to forget the events of last night. He was not quite able to get there, however, considering the memory sat on his shoulders like an elephant. "At least it was not a sunflower," said Yao only to fill the silence. He wondered how Ivan felt about this whole ordeal, but he was already fairly sure of the answer. While he had not said anything about it, his entire demeanor seemed lighter. He looked happy. He looked… stable.

"You are right, Yao! It would be very sad if a sunflower was damaged." Without warning, Ivan yanked the lily from the dirt with far more force than necessary. Yao flinched. Ivan then stood, brushed the dirt from his scarf, and returned to the bench. When he sat down, he handed the tattered lily to Yao and smiled how he always did. "For you."

"Oh. Uh…" Yao took the flower, careful not to let his hand linger on Ivan's for too long, and laid it carefully in his lap. "Thanks."

Yao was painfully aware that Ivan was still looking at him. His gaze sent electric shocks across his skin, made breathing complicated and threw his thoughts into a wild tailspin. He tried to ignore it, tried to concentrate on the little flower like it was the most interesting thing in the world, but Ivan's eventual words sent his already shot nerves far over the edge. "I love you, sunflower."

Yao felt as if the blood had been drained from his body. Why on earth did he tell Ivan that was okay? Maybe there had been laughing gas in the elevator's vents. Then again, that could not possibly be true because a small part of him felt like reciprocating and oh god he needed to change the subject as soon as humanly possible. Yao looked around, desperate for a distraction, but his eyes kept stubbornly returning to Ivan. Finally, they landed on his scarf and he asked, "Why do you wear that scarf everyday? It is still pretty warm out."

"Oh." Ivan suddenly did not look as cheerful. His smile fell like rocks off a cliff's edge, his shoulders tensed, and his hands flew to his neck with incredible speed. It was like watching someone change the channel. "Many reasons," he nearly whispered.

Yao got the feeling that he had unintentionally opened a rather complex can of worms. He held eye contact with Ivan for a few moments, both intrigued and disturbed by the conflict in his expression. Then his line of sight drifted lower, past Ivan's neck and to his hands, which were gripping either end of the scarf and…pulling. Yao had noticed him doing that before, but it was never quite this violent. It almost looked as if Ivan was trying to keep himself from breathing.

"Ivan?" he said, perplexed but rapidly growing concerned. Ivan did not stop pulling. In fact, he only got more fervent about it. His knuckles had gone white, his face pinched and a bit too red. Concern turned to panic. "Ivan, you're going to hurt yourself!" In desperation, he covered Ivan's hands with his own. Ivan met his eyes, mouth agape, and loosened his grip as if breaking free from a trance. Yao could only whisper, "What are the reasons?" It had gone from something he was mildly curious about to something he found absolutely necessary to know.

"Just a silly habit of mine." Ivan said it with a forced, trembling smile, as if that were enough to explain, as if asphyxiating himself was not completely, painfully alarming.

"What are the reasons?" Yao had to repeat it, had to know the answer, had to keep his hands exactly where they were.

Heavy, daunting silence fell over them. Slowly, Ivan pulled his hands from his neck and laced their fingers together. Yao did not pull away. He was far too distracted. Ivan looked almost guilty as he spoke towards the ground. "It is nice to have something…close to me. At all times. Something that cannot leave."

Yao tilted his head. It was an interesting explanation, just as much as it was a heartbreaking one. He wanted to say that he had no intention of leaving. He wanted to say he looked forward to these visits every damn week, that he had given up on thinking it was ridiculous, that being here with him made absolutely no sense and all the sense in the world at the same time. But he didn't. All he said was, "I see." Words came easier when he noticed how strong Ivan's hands felt over his. "Why do you pull on it so much?" He knew he was asking too much, pushing too far, but he also knew if he did not get the answers now he never would.

"Sometimes…" Ivan trailed off, narrowed his eyes, parted his lips. He looked on edge of either despair or revelation, and Yao hadn't a clue which one was more likely. The hushed response he eventually got was a blend of both. "Sometimes I do not wish to breathe."

The ground fell away as the air turned cold. How had this gotten so dark so quickly? Finally, Yao was starting to see what Ivan hid behind that smile. Finally he was beginning to understand, even if he was not sure he wanted to. It was still a mystery how he remained so cheerful despite the demons that chased him- or at least how he feigned it so well. Speaking was, again, entirely too challenging. No response felt like enough. Ivan continued his explanation before Yao even got a grasp on it. "But is for coverage, mostly." His tone was lighter this time, if only slightly. Somehow it only made things seem more insidious.

"Coverage?" The word was a struggle. Yao glanced at Ivan's scarf again, and for the first time it dawned on him that a piece of his past could be scrawled behind it. "What do you mean?" That was when Ivan pulled his hands away. Yao stared at him, startled, and quickly realized what he was doing. Ivan was pulling at his scarf in a very different way. He was removing it. "Ivan, you don't have-" But the words died in his throat when Ivan shook his head and looked far in the distance, his face pale, seemingly unable to speak. Yao had to remind himself to continue breathing. This- and whatever would become of it- felt far more intimate than it would have if Ivan undressed completely.

The first thing Yao saw was the scarf, balled in Ivan's shaking fists. He looked farther up, too far, to see his terrified, struck silent expression. His heart clenched dangerously in his chest as he finally dropped his gaze. Running across Ivan's neck in raised, angry lines, were scars. In that instant, Yao forgot every petty worry and complaint he had before. Nothing else mattered but this. "Oh my god." Yao stared at him like a blind man just given the ability to see. He began to ask a question he was not ready to learn the answer to. "Ivan, how-"

"The knife was sharp."

For a second, Yao was confused. It seemed like such an odd statement. Reality hit like a fist moments later when he realized those scars looked too straight to be accidental. _Sometimes I do not wish to breathe…_ "Oh my god," he said again, much quieter. It seemed far too cruel, but all things considered, it hardly shocked him. Still, Yao did not want to believe it. "You…" A million horrifying images passed through his vision. He closed his eyes briefly, forced his breathing to steady and clung desperately to his composure. "You did this to yourself." It was not even a question. It didn't have to be.

Ivan's eyes suddenly widened. "I'm sorry." His breath came too fast and his face turned deadly white. He was shaking, worse than he had been before, and then his hands were wringing neck again. His accent grew thicker. "I am better now, Yao, I am. I am not… I am crazy. You must believe me, sunflower, please, I am not…" He dissolved into a jumble of words, definitely not English, likely not coherent in any language.

"Ivan." Yao kept his voice as quiet and stagnant as possible. He had to. He had to pull Ivan out of his own mind. "I know you are not crazy." It was not a lie, and it had been that way since the very first week. But it was not working. Ivan was still clutching at his neck, still looked panicked, entranced, and most of all, immensely ashamed. He was still speaking. It was still nonsensical. Yao felt anguish mix with his fear as he watched Ivan dissolve, break, and all but disappear right next to him. He hated that his emotions already had this effect on his own, but one thing was for sure: that was not going to stop. He just needed to fix this, dammit, why did he have to, why couldn't he… "You need a flat surface." Yao acted long before he even realized he had used Ivan's own words. Before it registered that he was on his feet, he was standing before Ivan and grasping his hands, like Ivan was dangling from a cliff and Yao was the ledge.

Maybe it took only minutes, but it felt like hours had passed before it finally worked. With Yao still clasping his hands as if to hold him up, Ivan stopped speaking and gradually, cautiously lifted his gaze. "Oh." His voice was hoarse. "Hello."

Yao's entire body relaxed in what felt like an internal sigh of relief. "Thank you for telling me," he said, sounding unaffected though he felt the opposite. "But please, do not worry so much. I know you are not crazy." This time, he could be sure Ivan heard him. He looked up, disbelieving, and Yao did the one thing he could think to do no matter how bad of an idea it was- he leaned forward and kissed him, as if to seal a pact.

And then everything was calm again. This time Yao could not blame his actions on exhaustion, vulnerability, or a fleeting, inane desire to be reckless. Unlike last night, this kiss hardly felt exhilarating. It felt natural. In that wonderful, electric moment, Yao gave up. He didn't want to fight this anymore, no matter what the inevitable consequences may be. Ivan broke away with a single word. "Here," Yao opened his eyes slowly, his mind fuzzy, as he felt soft fabric falling over his shoulders. "I would like you to borrow it."

"Borrow it?" Yao touched the warm cloth, heavy and unfamiliar around his neck. A shock went through his fingers. This seemed big, perhaps too big. "Won't you miss it?"

Ivan was still a bit pale, his breath still a bit too shallow, but he was smiling. "Is fine. It will be nice, knowing you have worn it." With hands that were still not as steady as they could be, he wrapped the scarf more securely around Yao's neck. Something about it felt very final.

"Alright." Yao was not about to reject this big of a gesture. As a sign of thanks, he pressed an absent, chaste kiss to Ivan's exposed neck. What was supposed to be innocent lasted only a second before Ivan jerked back, let out what sounded suspiciously like a stifled moan, and turned an interesting shade of pink immediately after. Yao blinked. He supposed he would have to remember that for later.

Ivan cleared his throat and blinked away his fluster. He spoke as if the last twenty seconds hadn't actually occurred. "You can return it next week, yes?"

Yao considered that for a moment. "No."

Ivan's face fell, almost as severely as it did that first week. "What?"

"No, I don't think it'll be next week." Yao shrugged and lifted his eyes. "Because I'm coming back tomorrow."

.

Before Yao opened the door to Matthew's office, he had to pause. Surging beneath his skin was a strong feeling that this was wrong. He had felt that way for weeks, but he was usually able to ignore it. After the two days he and Ivan had just had, however, what used to be a small doubt was now overpowering. Ivan had opened up to him, allowed himself to be vulnerable, told him things he had likely never told anyone else… and Yao was preparing to repeat all of it like his life was something he read about in a tabloid. He considered walking away, but was hit with an even better idea. Yao took a breath, straightened his shoulders and knocked.

It took Matthew nearly half a minute to open the door, and when he did, Yao was taken aback by how exhausted he looked. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he moved as if he had not slept in years and his last day off was even farther back. "Oh, Yao…" His voice dipped, but when he saw what was now around Yao's neck, his fatigue was a thing of the past. "That's Ivan's scarf," he said, eyes wide and unmoving.

Yao pinched the fabric between his fingers, and for a moment got lost in the memory of the afternoon. "Yes, it is." Then he remembered his purpose and looked Matthew in the eyes. "Dr. Williams, I believe we need to discuss our arrangement."

Matthew completely ignored him. "Ivan took off the scarf."

Yao just stared at him. He already had the feeling that this was a big gesture, but apparently he had managed to underestimate it. "He did." Beginning to lose patience, he took a breath and tried again. "Look, Dr. Williams, about all of this…"

His attempts were cut off when Matthew pulled him into the office by the arm and all but slammed the door behind them. "So, how did you do it?" He spoke like a teenage girl after being told a rumor. "No one has ever gotten him to take that thing off, Yao! It's practically a miracle!"

A bit disturbed, Yao took a careful step backwards. "I did not ask him to. He just gave it to me." And he had no desire to explain what led up to that happening. Ivan's confessions, his breakdown, the skeletons hidden far, far back in his closet… it all seemed entirely too personal to repeat, even if it was only his therapist. Yao wondered why he hadn't felt that way since the beginning.

"He _gave _it to you?" Matthew looked dangerously close to having an aneurism. "And to think I had doubts about this. I think we might have reached a breakthrough. Now, please, can you tell me what you two discussed today?"

Despite thinking he had made a concrete decision, Yao found himself tempted to go back on it. Matthew having this kind of information could help Ivan get better. Still, it was hardly his place to make this decision and Ivan would be either furious or devastated if he found out and oh god which would be worse? Yao sighed. Could nothing in his life be black and white anymore? "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"Oh?" Matthew abruptly came down from his frenzy and sat down. "Why is that?"

"This seems…" Yao shook his head sharply. He should not be hesitating. "Wrong. It seems wrong, Dr. Williams. Is this even… I don't know, legal?"

Matthew lifted a hand as if to claim innocence, crossed his legs and looked at Yao like he would a patient. "Did something happen, Yao? You seem a bit frazzled."

Frazzled was about ten steps below what Yao had been feeling the past couple of days- or couple of weeks, if he was going to be completely honest with himself. He barely heard himself when he started speaking. "So many things have happened." Something inside him snapped, and Yao gave a short, humorless laugh. "My god, Dr. Williams, you would not believe all that has happened. I didn't mean for it to turn out this way. I didn't mean for Ivan and I to-" He quickly came back to his senses, clamped his mouth shut, and flushed a deep red. Hopefully Matthew had not heard.

"Oh." Matthew's smile was knowing if not slightly sympathetic. He had heard, all right. "I think I understand."

Did he, really? Yao became entirely too aware of the scarf on his neck and concentrated on straightening it, an attempt to maintain his composure as well as his dignity. "Then you will understand why I can't do this to him." After a moment's consideration, he added, "I will tell you one thing. There are scars on his neck. I would ask him about them." Maybe he said too much, maybe it was too little, maybe it would do Ivan good and maybe it would make everything worse. Yao could not even tell anymore.

Matthew nodded. "Alright. Thank you for helping me while you could." He sounded almost too understanding. Yao could see why he was a therapist. "Now, I suppose we should discuss payment."

"No," said Yao quickly. "Keep it, please."

Matthew looked at him suspiciously but nodded anyway. "If you're sure."

Yao paused. Doubt set in for the tenth time; a cold jolt of what was almost fear shuddered across his skin. But when he pressed a section of the scarf to his face and breathed in the familiar scent, memory hit and he knew. "Oh, I'm sure."

.

"What are you so happy about, jackass?"

It did not take a genius to figure out Gilbert was in a bad mood. All day, he had been glaring at everyone who looked at him. For a moment Ivan suspected he was in his so-called 'alternate,' but judging by the absence of the word 'communist' from his sentence, he concluded he was simply upset. Ivan had a slight idea of what might have caused it- it definitely had something to do with running out of Matthew's office the night before.

Ivan was not very concerned with it, however. He was too busy rejoicing in his happiness. "Yao was just here." He did not mind telling Gilbert, because he wanted to tell the world.

"Oh, _him._" Gilbert rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall of their room. "Good to know your dog still comes around."

Ivan ignored the faint spark of anger beneath his skin. Everything was going right, for once in his life. He was not about to let Gilbert's immature comments taint it. "You are very unpleasant today."

"Yeah? Well, you would be too if you had to live with someone like yourself."

Ivan was not entirely sure what to make of this. He and Gilbert had never been on great terms, but usually Gilbert at least had a reason to attack him. Today, it seemed to come from nowhere. He could not help but smile at the absurdity. "I'm afraid I do not know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean." Gilbert ran a hand frantically through his hair, looking exasperated and sounding personally offended. "Why does that guy keep showing up? I mean, really, is somebody paying him?"

Ivan had never heard something so ridiculous. "What?" He shook his head as if to clear it, quickly pushing away the impossible idea. "Yao comes because he loves me."

"Oh, so it's _love _now?" Gilbert gave a short, unbelieving laugh. "Look, Ivan. There are two options here. One, Yao is just as crazy as you are. Two, someone is paying the poor bastard." The fire in his expression died when he looked Ivan up and down, instead giving way to a disgusting grin. "Or maybe he has a thing for scars."

Ivan's heart stopped in his chest. His hand flew instinctually to his neck, his blood running cold when he felt rough, mangled skin rather than soft fabric. Suddenly, he felt very, very exposed. He had nearly forgotten. God, how had he forgotten? How could he have let Gilbert see? He knew too much now, far, far too much. If what he was saying about Yao was not even to push Ivan over the edge, this was sure to send him flying over it. No, he had to stay composed. He had to. That was what Yao wanted. He could only whisper, "What do you want, Gilbert?"

Gilbert's eyes flashed wildly, his nails digging into his own arm. The last of his humor died. "What I _want,_" he nearly shouted, "is to know how someone like _you _ended up with _anyone!_"

What did he mean, someone like him? Ivan's breath came too quick. He could nearly feel the room falling away from him. He grit his teeth and gripped for his scarf, for his lifeline, even though it was no longer there. No, he could stop this… "He loves me." The words were more for himself than anyone.

Gilbert looked caught between laughing and crying. "No, he doesn't." The skin on his arm looked dangerously close to breaking as he scratched at it more intensely. "If Matthew won't even look at me, how…" He broke off as if saying too much.

Ivan suddenly understood what this was about, but he barely cared. All that mattered were those words, hanging in the air and closing his throat. _No, he doesn't…_ Ivan clutched his hands into shaking fists as a wild fear rose in him. Hearing Gilbert speak about Yao was disgusting, but considering the possibility he was right was worse. Gilbert was still speaking; words indistinguishable, or maybe Ivan was simply imagining it. Either was, the more his head filled with that shrill, accented voice, the more his fear turned to rage.

Everything suddenly felt unreal and far away.

"Oh, Gilbert." Ivan did not even realize he had moved until he was on the other side of the room, gripping Gilbert's shoulders so tightly his hands shook. "You are jealous of me." Yes, that was why he was saying these things, Gilbert was wrong, Yao loved him, he did…

Gilbert clutched at his own arm, teeth bared, visibly struggling to hold himself together like he had been for hours. "What the hell do you mean?"

Spots of black flooded Ivan's vision. He knew what was about to come. He would not remember this. "You are jealous. Because Yao loves me, and no one could ever love an insane, unstable, malicious…" Ivan likely tightened his grip, but he could not fell his hands. His movements were no longer his own. Neither were his words. "…German."

Gilbert broke at the same moment Ivan did. But Ivan was quicker.

.

He was far too used to this. Ivan could not be sure where he was, what had happened, or how long it had been since he lost touch with himself. Slowly, the numbness faded from his body. The first thing he felt was blood, seeping from the side of his mouth, running out of his nose… drying on his hands. This was not the first time this had happened. But the jolt of unforgiving terror was certainly new. It took a year for Ivan to look down, his heart beating in his throat in a way he had never felt. There he saw Gilbert, eyes no longer wild and ferocious, but rather…dead. Ivan gasped sharply and tumbled backwards when he realized his hands were still around his throat.

What had he _done?_

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	10. Chapter 10

Yao woke the next morning with Ivan's scarf pressed to his face. This time he did feel hung over, did not feel suffocated by fragmented memories. He felt calm. If he was going to be completely, totally honest with himself for the first time in what seemed like ages, he could even say he felt…happy. Not bored, not stressed, not fearful, and not overwhelmingly, horribly confused, but happy. Yao smiled against the soft fabric. For once he could not wait to get up.

Ivan's scarf still around his neck, Yao felt almost too light as he went about his day. The morning had passed in a flurry of excitement and muted nerves, and somewhere in the midst of it Yao remembered he had plans to see Kiku right after he planned to see Ivan. That only widened his smile- it was just another thing to look forward to. Finally, he would be able to reconnect with his brother. From the moment he got out of bed to the moment he arrived at the hospital, Yao could not keep that smile off his face. He was fairly certain he would never stop.

That held true until Yao actually reached the psychiatric ward. The moment he arrived, he knew something was wrong. For one thing, Ivan did not rush out to meet him. In fact he was nowhere to be seen at all. Neither was Gilbert. The person to eventually approach him was Matthew, and just like everything else, something seemed off about him as well. His eyes were rimmed in dark circles, his clothes were askew, and the moment he looked at Yao his expression twisted into something that was almost a grimace. Yao tried to ignore his quickly rising suspicions. "Afternoon, Dr. Williams. Where is Ivan?"

"Ivan is…" Matthew paused, sighed, and shook his head. "We need to talk, Yao. Please step into my office." He spoke more seriously than he ever had. The vague feeling of wrongness quickly growing to be overpowering, Yao shuffled along behind him.

Matthew shut the door with such force that Yao flinched. He spoke with his back to him. "There was an incident with Ivan's roommate last night."

"Incident?" Judging by what Ivan had said about those two, Yao was hardly surprised. He continued without thinking about the words, confused and unsure how to deal with it. "Unicorn boy or the Prussian king?"

Slowly, Matthew turned to face him. "Gilbert." His face pinched as he said his name. "They got into a fight."

"A fight?" Yao echoed. His stomach twisted into painful knots when the idea sunk in. What was going on? "Why were they fighting?" Matthew began a stuttering response, but Yao did not allow him to finish. Panic took over. "Is Ivan alright?"

"Ivan is fine." Matthew's jaw tensed, and he looked away. Yao felt only slightly better. "Look, Yao. I'm going to be very blunt. It wasn't so much a fight as it was a beating. Gilbert being the one receiving."

"Oh." In a way Yao had always known this was possible. He knew Ivan was troubled if not downright dangerous, but something about what he was being told felt like outright lies. Something was not clicking. When he looked down at the scarf, he thought of a man who just yesterday handled a lily with upmost care, a man who looked at him with a gentle, warm gaze, a man who cared entirely too much. He did not see a man who was capable of anything that could be described as a _beating. _Though his throat felt dry and everything else felt far away, he forced himself to ask, "How is Gilbert?"

"He regained consciousness this morning."

Ivan had gotten into a fight… Ivan had beaten someone unconscious… Yao did not allow himself to picture it. He couldn't. A million questions flew through his mind, none of which he actually wanted the answers to. Nausea hit like a swift punch to the gut. Again, he only said, "Oh."

"I think it's needless to say Ivan can't have visitors right now." Matthew seemed to keep his eyes locked on Ivan's scarf. Yao only nodded, feeling numb. "Yao, I'm not exactly sure what kind of relationship has developed between you and Ivan and it isn't my place to know. Still, I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't advise you to end it." He spoke as if he had been given a script, but Yao felt as though he had slapped him.

"What?" Yao balled a section of the scarf in his hand, scoffed incredulously and shook his head. Matthew's expression did not change. "What makes you say that? This is an isolated incident, isn't it? God… you haven't even told me the majority of the story!" Yao could not make sense of his own words. His mind was reeling.

"It isn't exactly isolated. Actually, this has only proven a suspicion I already had…" Matthew blinked away his cold expression, and soon he just looked conflicted. "I'm not sure if I can tell you anymore."

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?" Desperate panic clawed at Yao's throat like a beast. "I've spent weeks getting you information on this man. Are you saying you won't even tell me what you've concluded from it?"

"I suppose… that wouldn't be fair." Matthew sighed, running a weary hand through his hair. "Look, Yao. We've already concluded Ivan suffers from borderline personality disorder, but I don't believe that's where his problems end." He took a breath before continuing. Yao only held his. "I believe Ivan may be sociopathic."

The word hit like a bullet, a splash of boiling water, a cold, cruel accusation. "What?!" Yao could not stop himself from shouting. "Wouldn't that mean he doesn't care about anyone? That he feels no sympathy?" All it took was a brief flashback to those hours in the elevator to conclude that was false. All of this felt false, it had to be. There was no other logical explanation.

"That's a bit of an oversimplification, but something like that plays a part, yes." Matthew spoke calmly. It was almost as though he didn't even care. "While I'm leaning more towards a sociopathic inclination, psychopathy is also a possibility. There's a few minute differences between the two, and it's important to…"

Yao lost focus. He did not even care about the specifics anymore. All he cared about was that word and the implications behind it, hanging in the air and mocking him. Those types of words belonged in horror movies and news stories about places far away, attached to truly insane people Yao did not care about. None of it should be attached to Ivan. It felt _wrong, _dammit! "Stop," said Yao suddenly, interrupting. "This has to be a misunderstanding. It doesn't make sense!" Really, what did make sense at this point? "He told me Gilbert is always trying to upset him. How do you know this isn't his fault?"

"Because Ivan walked away with bruises and Gilbert is lucky he woke up." Despite being barely above a whisper every other time they had spoken, Matthew sounded close to shouting. His eyes widened as if he had shocked himself. "Anyway," he said, calmer this time, "it's probably best if you don't visit for awhile. We don't know how dangerous Ivan is."

"He isn't." Maybe that was far from the truth, maybe Yao was lying to himself, but it was all he could say. "Oh god, he isn't…"

Matthew suddenly started towards the door. "I have to get back to Gilbert." He shot Yao another quick, borderline distrustful glance. "Do you want me to give Ivan his scarf back?"

Yao had almost forgotten. He reached toward his neck, intent on removing it, but quickly realized he could not physically do it. This scarf was the last normal thing left in this catastrophe. "No." Yao walked to the door and opened it. "I'll come back later." Before Matthew could respond, Yao was on his way out. He couldn't stand to be in that ward any longer, likely mere yards from Ivan but torturously unable to see him.

Some time was left before he was due to meet Kiku. Yao was unwilling to go home, unwilling to stop moving and unwilling to think, so he walked. He walked with the same lack of direction that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Along the way he wondered what things would be like if that never happened, if he had never met Ivan and Ivan had never met him. Maybe Ivan would be better off. Who knew anymore?

"Dude, are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost or something."

Yao turned in the direction of the voice- loud, the accent American- and saw the man it came from fit it perfectly. He was the poster child for an All-American boy next door- blonde hair, blue eyes and a charismatic grin. Yao felt as if he had seen him before, but not in person. Perhaps on the cover of a magazine. "Oh." He wondered why this man was speaking to him, why he cared at all. "It's been a bit of a rough morning."

"I hear ya." The man took a step closer. "I saw you walking out of the psych ward. Do you have one on the inside too?"

"I do, actually." Slowly, Yao lifted his gaze to meet the American's. Though his smile looked to be perpetual, it seemed as though he was struggling to keep it. He knew immediately that their situations were very similar. "Do you?"

"Guilty as charged. Just got done talking to him, actually. Didn't go too well this time." The American studied Yao more carefully, and that obnoxious grin finally faltered. "I'm guessing it went about the same for you."

"You could say that." That was the understatement of the century. Yao shook his head, felt an immediate ache in his chest and finally extended his hand. "Yao Wang."

The American returned the handshake, his grip firm. "Alfred F. Jones, But I'm guessing you knew that already."

Yao raised an eyebrow. "I can't say I did."

"Not from around here, huh?" Alfred shrugged. "Let's take a walk, Yao."

.

They eventually ended up in the hospital's cafeteria. As Alfred devoured a burger like he hadn't seen food in at least ten years, Yao sipped at the weakest cup of coffee he had ever tasted, picked at the scarf and tried to collect his thoughts. It was a lost cause. "So," he said eventually, "who do you know here?"

Alfred suddenly lost interest in eating. He set down the burger, looked at the far wall and said, "His name is Arthur Kirkland." His grin resurfaced, if only faintly. The name seemed a bit familiar… "We were friends in high school. I decided to try and find him the other month, and here we are. What's your story?"

Yao began to feel even stranger than he already did. Alfred's story took seconds to explain, and it made sense. Yao was almost completely certain his made none. "His name is Ivan Braginsky." His throat felt thick as he said his name, the feeling only intensifying as he struggled for an explanation. "I ran into him when I was trying to find a different wing. Dr. Williams asked me to come back." That was about five percent of the story, but it was enough. Yao shrugged. "And here we are."

"Really? That's not what I expected." Alfred looked at him for a moment before breaking off with a light laugh. "Mattie has a weird way of doing his job."

"You know Dr. Williams?"

"Well, I would sure hope so. He's my brother."

Maybe that was why Alfred seemed familiar. "Huh," he said. "Small world."

"It sure is." Alfred twisted the rather large ring on his finger- too gaudy to be a wedding band. "What's yours here for? Artie is schizophrenic." He said it so casually, as if he had explained this time and time again.

If there was one thing Yao was sick of doing, it was telling people things they had no business knowing. But he could not help but feel Alfred was trustworthy, or at least that he understood. "Borderline personality disorder."

"Oh. Can't say I know too much about that one. I didn't know much of anything about schizo either, but it got to be necessary, you know?" Alfred bit into the burger and proceeded to speak with his mouth full. "Dealing with all of this takes some getting used to, I'll tell you what. Must be even worse for the people who live here. You know what Arthur told me today? He walked into his room last night to see his roommates beating the ever living shit out of each other."

Oh. So that was Arthur. Yao suddenly felt very ill. This time he could stop himself from picturing it, could not help but wonder what snapped in Ivan and if it would happen again. He blinked rapidly, hoping it was not obvious he was tearing up. Why did this have to happen? For once, things were calm. For once Yao was happy, Ivan was likely happy too, and all it was ripped away in a instant-

"Ooh," said Alfred, breaking Yao from his thoughts. "Yours was involved. Was he the one who got knocked out?"

Yao could not even speak anyone. Feeling perplexingly ashamed, he only shook his head.

Alfred's eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

"He usually isn't like this," said Yao quickly. "He and Gilbert…they never got along. This was likely a long time coming." He could not be sure why he felt so frantic. Alfred was a stranger. It was unlikely they would ever see each other again after this moment. Still, the need to defend Ivan burned like a flame no one could put out. Alfred nodded along, no real judgment in his eyes, and Yao continued in a softer voice. "Today Matthew told me he might be sociopathic. But I don't believe him."

Alfred pursed his lips and shook his head. "Mattie must have a thing for bad news. He told me Arthur might be beyond help, but you know what, Yao?" he said. Yao nodded, waiting for him to continue. "I don't believe that either. So don't worry too much."

There was something about that nonchalant declaration that put the tight ball of nerves in Yao's stomach to rest. "Thanks." Upon glancing at a nearby clock, he realized he was already late meeting Kiku. "It was nice talking to you, Alfred, but I'm afraid I have to get going."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I better get driving. Coach would be pretty pissed if I missed tomorrow's game." He stood, pulling on the jacket he was holding. Yao quickly read the lettering on the back: _New England Patriots. _"Where are you headed?"

Yao stood as well. "Hospice."

Alfred's eyebrows drew together. "Don't tell me you've got someone in there, too."

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. My brother is a nurse." Yao glanced down at the scarf and wondered if Kiku would ask about it. It wasn't as if wearing a thick scarf in seventy-degree weather was normal. Then again, he had given up on normality.

"Ah." Alfred took Yao's hand in another handshake. "It was nice meeting you, Yao. Good to know there's someone out there whose life is just as crazy as mine."

Despite how different they appeared on the surface, Yao got the feeling he and Alfred weren't all that different at all. He managed to smile, albeit faintly. "Pretty hectic, isn't it?"

"Damn straight. Good luck with…" Alfred broke off and smiled sheepishly. "I'm not all that good with names."

"Ivan." Yao's heart clenched, just like it had the last time he had said his name. It was getting to be bothersome. He quickly changed the subject. "Good luck with your game," he said even though he was not entirely sure what that meant.

"Ivan. Right." Alfred smoothed down his jacket and lifted his chin. "Thanks for the luck, not that I'll need it! If you want to see how it goes, just turn on channel five tomorrow."

Yao blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Alfred laughed at that. "Yeah, you're definitely not from around here."

"Alright, then." Yao blinked away his confusion. "Oh. Good luck with Arthur, too."

Alfred's eyes flashed strangely at that. When his smile fell, he suddenly looked about ten years older. "That, I might need."

.

When Yao got to the hospice department, the last thing he expected was Kiku to introduce him to one of his patients. Heracles was somewhat of a strange man, his major traits being an obsession with cats, shoulder length, unkempt hair… and a bit of an affinity for Kiku. It did not take long for it to become painfully obvious he was not simply a patient. He and Kiku seemed to hold eye contact too long, speak too casually. Kiku looked just a bit too concerned when Heracles began to sway in his stance. Heracles looked a bit too comfortable touching him, and at one point, calling him 'sweet.' By the end of the short, awkward introduction, Yao figured out what his brother was being so secretive about. He could not say he was upset it, however. Rather he felt almost jealous, because despite being in obviously poor health, Heracles was… normal.

When they passed Matthew on their way out, Yao pretended not to notice how long he stared at him.

Throughout the entire first half of the meal, Yao could not get thoughts of Ivan out of his head. He did not taste his food, did not meet Kiku's gaze, did not think about the meaningless small exchanged between them. He only said something of value when he could not stand to think of himself any longer. "Kiku, I know something is going on."

Kiku looked up, obviously startled and just as obviously trying to hide it. "What are you referring to?"

Yao had a strong feeling Kiku knew exactly what he was referring to, but simply did not want to talk about it. Yao could not he didn't know the feeling. Still, he said, "That patient, Kiku. The way he looks at you. The fact that he wanted to meet your brother."

Kiku looked away. "He is my friend." He stumbled over the last word, as if he wasn't sure about it.

"I can see that." Yao would have to be blind not to. "All I'm saying is… maybe there is more to it." He actually hoped there was more to it. That way, he would know Kiku would be that much closer to understanding his situation. Yao had seen the suspicious way Kiku had eyed the scarf, and it had become very clear he could not hide this much longer. He could not even say he wanted to anymore. It was getting to be far too much to handle alone.

"Why are you so concerned about it?" Kiku was wide-eyed, almost panicked. That was all it took.

"I suppose I was right." Yao was caught between being ecstatic that their situations were similar and concerned about what his brother was getting himself into. He settled on the latter when he remembered the department Kiku worked in. "Kiku, this is so unlike you."

Kiku arched an eyebrow. "Unlike me?"

"I would think you would have the sense not to fall into something like this." It seemed like a logical way of thinking. Kiku had always been so careful with his emotions… then again, so had Yao. Yao quickly evicted the thought from his mind. His own train wreck of a situation was irrelevant now that he had Kiku's to worry about.

"Oh." Kiku dropped his gaze, looking ashamed. "You think it's strange."

"No," said Yao immediately. That would make him a bit of a hypocrite, after all. He struggled to find the right words for what he was feeling and finally settled on, "I think it's a ticking time bomb." And it was. It was plain to see Kiku had fallen in love, and the person he was in love with was terminal. Yao felt his stomach drop as reality set it. It just seemed so unfair.

Kiku blinked rapidly and changed the subject without warning. "You never did tell me why Dr. Williams wanted to speak with you."

And just like that, it all came rushing back. Yao snapped out of his solemnity and quickly looked away. "I never did, did I?" He tried to laugh as if it was no big deal, but he didn't exactly succeed.

The tables had turned. Now, Kiku was the one who looked terribly suspicious and Yao was the one who felt like there was a spotlight on him. "No. You didn't," he said. "What happened? He said there was someone you would want to visit."

That conversation felt a lifetime away. So much had happened, changed, and recently, fallen apart. Yao sighed. "This is entirely too long of a story."

"I have time."

"Fine." Right then, Yao knew there was no escaping this. He had to tell him. And with any luck, he would understand. "Remember when I got lost and ran into a psych patient?"

Kiku nodded. "Of course."

"Well…" Yao grappled for a way to explain this, if there was a good way to do it at all. "The bottom line is Dr. Williams is using me as… a therapy tool, per say." He watched as Kiku's expression twisted into one of confusion and gave up on trying to make it sound normal. "It sounds strange because it is."

"What?" Kiku looked at Yao as if he had spontaneously sprouted wings. "A therapy tool? What on earth does that mean?"

What did it mean, really? Yao had little to no idea anymore. "All it means is I come in and talk with him." He was amazed by how neatly he managed to simply it, even if it did feel like a lie. "His name is Ivan." And there was that sinking feeling again. He did his best to ignore it.

"That is…very strange." Kiku seemed to study his brother, but his eyes soon softened. "What is he like?"

"He's nice." Even after today, Yao still believed it. He had to. Once he started trying to explain, perhaps only for his own sake, he couldn't stop. "I mean, a lot of people think he's creepy and he kind of is, but for the most part he is… misunderstood."

Kiku's face went blank. "There must be a reason he is there."

It took Yao a moment to register the statement. "Well, the label they stuck on him is borderline personality disorder." His conversation with Matthew came flooding back like a tsunami, and Yao felt his resolve to stay composed wash away. He began to feel dizzy. Like a pot boiling over, he threw his hands up and continued, unable to reel himself back. "They told me the other day they think he might be sociopathic! Can you believe that? It could not be further from the truth. If anything, he's _too_ empathetic. All he wants to do is protect people. I mean, just because he's gotten violent a few time doesn't mean-"

"Violent? With you?"

"No!" Just like everything Matthew had said, it felt like another cruel accusation. "He would never do anything to me. Ever." Yao wanted desperately to believe that.

Kiku threw his hands up as if to surrender. "I never said he would, Yao. I do not even know this man."

"I know, it's not your fault, I'm just tired of people judging him, and-" Yao could feel himself losing control and slipping into a cold panic. This was it. He had to tell Kiku, and he had to face whatever consequences it would bring. The words passed his lips before he understood them. "And I think I'm in love with him."

Despite the flurry of noise from other tables, the space between them fell deadly silent. A chill shot down Yao's neck, his breath quickened and his body numbed. He barely heard Kiku's eventual response over the heartbeat in his ears. "This is very sudden."

Well, it was definitely not the worst reaction he could have gotten. Yao was finally able to take a breath. "I know. It was a lot to spring on you at once, but I thought you might understand." Ivan's scarf was in his hands before he realized he had touched it. He needed to have it close, needed the comfort. "It may seem ridiculous, but it's the truth."

Kiku seemed to contemplate that for a moment, his face more or less blank. Yao's breath came easier and easier. Maybe he did understand, maybe they could bond and laugh over how bad they both were at choosing partners… "Yao, this seems dangerous."

Yao's mood dropped so severely and abruptly that he could barely force a response. "Well, it isn't."

Kiku was speaking, and Yao could barely make sense of the words. He was talking about Ivan, calling him dangerous, calling him troubled, calling him violent. He did not understand. Of course he did not understand, why was Yao ever foolish enough to believe that he was? He had no reason to understand. Maybe Kiku only spoke for seconds, but Yao felt his blood boil hotter until his skin with every syllable. No. No, this was unfair. Kiku had no right to speak about Ivan this way, a man he had never met. Yao had to stop this. He had to stop it right now. His desperation peaked, a hand that was not his slammed the table with upmost force, and a voice that he had no control over shouted, "At least Ivan isn't DYING, Kiku!"

Yao immediately knew he had gone much, much too far. That thoughtless, ugly statement was the verbal equivalent to a shot below the belt. He watched helplessly as Kiku's eyes flashed painfully and filled with tears, maybe thinking of Heracles, maybe wondering how his own brother could ever be so cruel. Sickening guilt set in. "Kiku." Yao spoke as gently as possible, a desperate attempt to fix this even though he was sure it was unfixable. "Oh my God, Kiku, that was entirely out of line. I'm so sorry."

"No." Kiku sounded dangerously closed to crying. Yao swore his heart physically broke in half. "No, it's fine. You are right."

There was nothing more to say. Yao could have apologized again, could have attempted to explain himself, but there was no point. All he could do was stare down at his food, his appetite gone, and wonder how it had gotten to be this way.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	11. Chapter 11

Gilbert woke up.

Thank God, Gilbert woke up.

Ivan was completely shocked by how relieved he was when he got the news. He was not supposed to care at all about Gilbert. He was supposed to relish in every opportunity he got to hurt him, laugh at his misfortune, and take joy in pushing him over the edge. But when he came back to his senses and found himself hovering over the crazy boy, choking him, his blood on his hands, Ivan felt… guilty. Months ago he would have been disappointed at how minor the injuries were, and now he felt strangely, overwhelmingly disgusted with himself for allowing it to escalate that far in the first place. The rush of unfamiliar guilt took his sleep, pounded into his head and muddled his mind. It was new, and it was terrifying. Ivan could barely breathe through it all.

Matthew was not particularly helping. Ever since he saw the aftermath of the night prior and Ivan was dragged away by orderlies, Matthew seemed intent on murdering Ivan through gaze alone. It was subtle, but it was enough. His tone had dipped in a similar manner. "I think we need to talk about what happened, Ivan."

Ivan rubbed the back of his exposed neck, feeling rather light-headed, his eyes locked on the floor. He could barely form a coherent response, so he settled on a one-word answer in his mother tongue. _"Da." _

Matthew took an audible breath, visibly fighting to keep his professional distance from the situation. The clock on the desk ticked so loudly it seemed to shake Ivan's very core. "Okay," he said finally, cutting through the deafening silence. "I suppose we should start by getting your side of the story."

It was entirely apparent that Matthew was not actually interested in hearing it at all. Ivan had recently figured out how the therapist saw him- frightening, unstable, and lately, downright violent. He wondered how he had not noticed it from the beginning. Ivan could only speculate how many people shared these opinions- but he did not have the heart to think about it for too long. Tears burned behind his eyes, but he refused to let them surface. Instead, he said the only thing that gave him an ounce of control. "Gilbert is crazy." He was crazier than Ivan, much crazier. He had to be…

"Why do you always-" Matthew cut himself off. "We can discuss that later. Can you tell me exactly what happened between you two before the incident occurred?"

"Yes." That was something Ivan actually remembered, no matter how much he didn't want to. Now that his scarf was no longer in his possession, he took to wringing his neck. "I entered the room after Yao had visited, and Gilbert seemed…not happy. He pointed out my-" Ivan's hand tensed around his neck and he quickly adverted the topic. "He says Yao does not care. That he is being…paid, to come. Is crazy, yes?"

"Oh." Matthew looked up, suddenly looking alarmed rather than disinterested. "That is… quite the assumption." He shook his head briefly and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "So he verbally attacked you for no reason? You said nothing to him at all prior to this?" He seemed both unwilling and unable to believe it.

Ivan nodded. He could have supplied a good bit more information- exactly how agitated Gilbert was, what Ivan confessed to Yao earlier that afternoon, how the absence of his scarf had affected him- but he did not bother. He simply did not have the energy. Only one question mattered to him. "Does Yao know?"

Matthew visibly tensed before lifting his gaze slowly, carefully to meet Ivan's. "Yes. I told him."

"Oh." Ivan could not say he was surprised, or even that he was angry. He knew he should be. Whatever medication they had given him that morning was casting thick, dense clouds over every emotion he had. "Will I see him soon?"

"We can discuss that later," said Matthew. Ivan dropped his gaze and took a long, trembling breath. He had long since grown tired of that same statement. "I think it's important we get this settled first. So, Gilbert was already distressed, started saying things about Yao, and then what? It got to be too much?"

Ivan supposed that was one way to put it. "Yes."

"Okay." Matthew wrote something, and Ivan felt annoyance start to peak out above the fog. He hated when Matthew wrote in the middle of their sessions. "Do you remember any of the actual fighting?"

"No," said Ivan honestly. Something guilty and sickening set it. Maybe he did not remember the actual fighting, but the aftermath was enough to make him nauseous. He wished it didn't, he knew it shouldn't, but it did.

Matthew eyed him in a way that was borderline suspicious, but quickly moved on. "I understand Gilbert transitioned. Did you trigger him on purpose, Ivan?" He sounded accusatory. Why did everyone suddenly sound so accusatory? Perhaps they had always sounded that way.

Ivan made a monumental effort not to scratch raw, bleeding lines into his neck out of frustration alone. He did not even know what a 'transition' was, and frankly, it hardly concerned him. "It happened because he is crazy, Matthew." He did not raise his voice, because that was what crazy people did- crazy people like Gilbert, who shouted at everything. He smiled- even though it felt hollow and forced- because that was what normal people did. "Will you not believe me?"

"Stop calling him crazy." Matthew slammed down his pen in what he probably thought was an assertive manner. Ivan looked up, a bit startled, and Matthew sighed. He spoke slower his time, gently. "You know, Ivan, everyone who's in here has a reason to be. That being said, no one in here can be dumbed down to simply 'crazy.' You included. Have you maybe considered you think that way about other patients because it takes the focus off yourself?"

It made sense. It made entirety too much goddamn sense. Again Ivan reached for a non-existent scarf and again he settled on gripping his neck. Annoyance fading, he sunk back in his seat. Matthew's words set in the same way memory did that one unfortunate night- not at all, and then all at once. "Oh." The word was barely a breath. He wanted to dismiss the statements as nonsense, but terror set in when he realized he couldn't. Ivan did not dare look at Matthew, did not dare breathe, did not dare think. So this was it. This was the moment his carefully constructed web of thoughts and reasoning would fall out of place, twist into odd shapes and shatter helplessly around him. "Oh." The ability to say anything else was long gone.

Matthew no longer seemed focused on glaring. His expression smoothed over into something that was normal for him, going so far as to smile in that innocent, gentle way he always did, but it brought no comfort. "Would you like to talk about that?"

Eyes fixed open and focused on nothing specific, Ivan slowly shook his head.

"Well, we're going to have more frequent sessions for awhile, so there will be time," Matthew whispered, shouted, said gently, firmly… Ivan could not even tell. "I suppose that's enough for right now."

If there was one thing this session had been, it was enough- enough to shake Ivan to the core, push the air from his lungs and steal the words from his mind. As he stood, however, his eyes fell to something that should be irrelevant but he somehow knew wasn't: a conspicuous paperweight sitting on the edge of the desk. Ivan closed his eyes momentarily as a pained jolt struck his chest. "Matthew."

"Yes?"

"What happened with Gilbert. Did…" Ivan nearly stopped speaking. This could very well be misplaced and ridiculous, but deep down he just had a feeling. "Did similar thing happen with you?"

Matthew followed his line of sight, and he lurched backwards almost cartoonishly. His face went pale. "Ah, well, kind of. Awhile ago."

These sudden moments of clarity were getting to just be bothersome. Ivan wrapped his hand around the doorknob and stared straight at the wood as he said, "I am sorry." He did not turn to see Matthew's expression, did not bother to wait for him to finish his stuttering response. All he did was go back to his room- where he found Mathias instead of Gilbert.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Ivan knew he was worse than he told himself, but he had not realized how bad he had gotten. Not until now.

.

For weeks, Ivan was alone.

It was a muck of therapy that passed like running tar and medication that turned everything to slow motion, of sleepless nights and dull sparks of sudden memory. During sessions, Ivan responded to questions only when it was absolutely required of him, only when silence would inarguably make him seem more insane than he already did. One day Matthew asked about the scars- carefully and with deliberateness, as if he was told to ask. That was a question Ivan did not answer… sometimes silence was less insane that what was required to break it.

He did not see Gilbert at all, did not even bother interacting with Mathias or Arthur. Group sessions were amazingly quiet that month. So were the phones. Yao did not call, did not visit, did not give any indication he still cared about Ivan at all. Ivan could not decide what to feel- angry, devastated, confused- because all he felt was emptiness, and shame. He could not even look himself in the mirror.

Somewhere along the line, Ivan's scarf miraculously appeared on his bed. It should have brought comfort but it accomplished the opposite, because Ivan knew that Yao had been there at some point. He had been there, but he was still far, far out of Ivan's reach. The days that he did not visit felt like years, stretched into weeks that felt like decades, and ending up as a month that felt like a lifetime. All he could do was remind himself it could not be permanent.

And it wasn't.

"Ivan, I am so sorry."

When he saw him, Ivan was almost positive he was hallucinating. Yao moved across the room with a purpose, too fast for Ivan's mind to properly register, too fast for how slowly the last month had passed. He was slow to respond, slow like everything had felt. "Yao?" He blinked, allowed himself to believe, and suddenly everything was back in full speed and full color. Yao was touching his arms, speaking his name, looking up at him with warm brown eyes. Suddenly everything was normal- as normal as things could be. "You came back." He said it only to remind himself it was true. He wondered why he was not ecstatic, why he was not overwhelmingly, crippling relieved, why he only felt nervous and unsure. It felt like waiting for a bomb to go off.

Yao nearly smiled, and even though he did not quite get there, it was enough to warm Ivan's heart. But at the same time it was unsettling, because that smile was so kind, so incredibly _decent _for what Ivan recently realized he deserved. Everything felt cold again. "You knew I would eventually, yes?" asked Yao. He touched Ivan's shoulders and actually kissed him… Ivan was the one to break away. "I'm sorry, Ivan. They would not allow me to visit."

Part of him believed that was true, because they probably thought Ivan would hurt Yao, too. However, part of him believed what he said was simply a lie. He could not even decide which was worse. The conflicting thoughts caused him to take a step back. "Is fine." In that moment, being anywhere near Yao felt like it had ages ago- taboo and forbidden. Considering how they met, it was an odd, foreign feeling he wished would go away.

"Are you alright?"

Ivan looked down at Yao only to realize he could not read him. Somehow he seemed unreal, like this was all a dream. Smiling was just about all he could do. "Yes." He ignored the feeling this was a lie and added, "Are you, sunflower?"

When Yao did not answer immediately, Ivan nearly forgot to continue breathing. Yao's smile fell and he actually did. "I have been…alright." He sounded unsure, far, far too unsure.

"Just alright?" Ivan was thankful he had his scarf back. With one sharp tug, he reigned in his growing unnerve and gained the ability to force his thoughts into words. "Is this because of me?"

"Because of you?" Yao sounded confused, but his eyes flashed strangely at the question. "What do you mean?"

"You heard what happened, _da?_" Ivan detached himself from both the words and their meanings. "I thought, maybe you would be…" He tilted his head, felt a rush of faintness. "Upset?"

"Oh." Yao's eyes widened in understanding and he crossed his arms over his chest, forming a physical barrier between them. "Well, it was a bit of a shock."

It came as a shock to Ivan, too. He tried to force himself to forget, tried to make himself to believe it didn't matter and everything was behind them. But he could not ignore the way Yao looked at him. He seemed suddenly apprehensive, suddenly tense. Fear nearly knocked him off his feet when he was hit was another short, intense burst of déjà-vu. Like he knew that look. Like this had happened before. Speaking became more complicated. "Yao."

Yao met his gaze, his eyes firm but far too blank. "Yes?"

Ivan swallowed, unfocused his line of sight and tried, almost unsuccessfully, to breathe. He needed to ask, needed to know… "Are you… afraid of me, Yao?"

Yao narrowed his eyes. "What a strange suggestion. Of course not."

The air returned to Ivan's lungs in a rush of dizzying relief. He was able to burst past the thick, medicated barrier blocking his emotions. Of course Yao was not afraid. He felt foolish for entertaining such an idea at all, so foolish he was nearly able to laugh, cry out joyfully, fly straight from his spot. It no longer felt strange when he took Yao's hands. "Oh, Yao, I am very happy to-"

"I have not felt that way for quite some time, really."

Surely Ivan had heard that wrong. Surely. "Some time?" No, Yao had not felt that way about him once, not ever. He was different. He had to be.

"I mean," said Yao quickly, "it was pretty intense when we met, wasn't it?"

Maybe it was intense, Ivan did not even remember, but that did not answer the question. It did nothing to settle the wild panic rising within him. "What do you mean?"

"How we met was quite… radical, Ivan. You have to admit." Yao brought his hands together and stared at them as he wrung them together, over and over. Ivan was dizzied by it. "When Dr. Williams asked me to come back, I was not completely sure about it."

Ivan lost focus as his body went numb, cold, his mind following suit not long after. No, certainly this was a misunderstanding; his ears were playing tricks on him. Matthew had absolutely no part in this. "This is not making sense, sunflower." Laughter rose in his chest, laughter that was more painful than crying. "Why would Matthew have spoken with you?" He refused to even acknowledge his exact phrasing, even though it rang in his ears: _asked me to come back…_

"Oh." Yao looked away, lips slightly parted. He shook his head, took a sharp breath, and dissolved into a rush of words. "Oh, we speak often enough. Dr. Williams wanted me to… help; I guess you could say. He did not understand you, and he thought I might be able to, so he asked me to come talk to you." His eyes shot open as if saying the wrong thing, but perhaps he only said too much. Ivan only stared. "It was to help you."

"To help me?" An explosion of thought erupted in Ivan's mind. Pieces of a puzzle flew together though he wished they would stay scattered, locked together into a sickening clear picture. He started to tremble when everything started to make sense- all the things Matthew knew that Ivan never told him, the things he had told only Yao, the things he thought were private and personal and intimate. He had told Matthew. He had told him _everything. _Ivan felt instantly sick, his pulse quick and his breath hard. No, no, no… "You have been telling him… what have you been telling him, Yao?" He was not sure if he did not understand or he just did not want to.

"No, Ivan, listen." Yao touched his arm, fast and frantic. Ivan pulled away. He waited for an explanation, waited for Yao to say something that somehow took the crushing, devastating pain from coursing through his veins, but he was met with only silence. Yao looked as though he had forgotten how to speak.

Hot tears pricked Ivan's eyes, but he barely felt them. "Listen to what?"

"I was only trying to help." Yao sighed, shook his head, and adverted the question completely. "Coming here is completely my choice."

"Your choice. But…" Ivan's heart turned hard, dark, heavy, and sunk to his stomach. Yao had chosen to betray him. That was his choice from the very beginning. "I am a job to you?" No, that could not be it, no…

"What? Ivan, no!" Yao's expression faded from horror to something closer to startled and…guilty. "I mean, Matthew needed me to help him, but that doesn't mean…"

Yao's voice faded out and Gilbert's words- his cruel, ugly accusations- sped into Ivan's racing mind and passed his lips almost simultaneously. "Are you paid to see me?" Suddenly, it did not sound all that ridiculous.

Yao fell silent. The world burst apart when he whispered, "Not anymore."

It was all lies. From every kind word and simple touch to that electric, world-bursting kiss in the elevator, all the confessions he was sure Yao understood… it had all been one huge, cruel, well-played _lie. _Despair hit like nothing Ivan had ever felt. It was enough to knock him from his feet, deafen him, blind him, send a chill straight to his core and cause his entire body to shake. Gilbert was right. Of course Gilbert was right, and of course Ivan was naïve enough to believe he wasn't. Yao was speaking, touching him and burning him, nothing making sense and nothing feeling real. Ivan could not breathe, could not stop the room from twisting and spinning and breaking around him, could not stop tears from spiking his eyelashes. This was a feeling no flat surface or deep breath could fix. And he knew this was not the first time.

Yao's voice came back into focus slowly, like a radio stuck between channels. "Ivan, you're scaring me! Please say something!"

The spiral of panic came to an end, Ivan went back to feeling cold, emotionless and devastated. He knew what he had to say, but he did not want to say it. He did not want what he once thought would be his fairytale ending to come to an end so abrupt and ugly. But there was no choice. This pain would only get worse. Ivan tried to look into Yao's wide, panicked eyes, but it was too much. He had to look away if he was going to force himself to say, "Leave, Yao. Never speak to me again."

"What?" Yao tried again to touch Ivan, and again Ivan pulled away as if he was trying to stab him. It felt about the same. "Ivan, please, if you would let me explain…"

"LEAVE!" shouted Ivan as he turned away, unwilling to let Yao see him cry, break, feel the effects of what he did to him. Besides, he could not even look at him anymore. This hurt, it hurt like being sliced open, but it was the least painful option. Somewhere in the very back of his mind he knew it was dangerous to be around him. "I am nothing to you. You are nothing to me. Get out of my sight." The former was a reality he wished were a lie. The latter was a boldfaced lie that would need to become truth very soon. The last sentence was a desperate attempt to do just that.

So when Ivan ran away, he left his happiness behind- wide-eyed and stunned silent- because he was afraid of what would happen if he stayed. He did not want Yao to end up like Gilbert.

Somehow he ended up in the garden. It was not even his intent to go there. It was a place that was always a sanctuary, a place that he put together with Yao in mind, a place that he now knew was constructed by deceit and forever tainted with memory. At one point- earlier that very _day, _actually- looking at the flowers filled Ivan was immeasurable happiness. Now he could not even look at them. Just like Yao, they had to go. Everything he once thought made him happy needed to go.

Once Ivan pulled up that first lily, he could not stop.

It all flew past in a haze, muddied by flying dirt and flashes of memory and screaming. This time, black spots did not overwhelm his vision. He knew exactly what he was doing. He did not stop, not when thorns cut his bare hands, not when images of his Baltic friends entered his mind and refused to leave. He had never wanted to hurt them, but it was nothing short of a miracle that he didn't. Because today's events felt so similar one nightmare collided with another he remembered, clear as the mocking sky above him, what happened that day. He remembered the fear on their faces he once ignored, remembered being told he was too frightening and too forceful, remembered how it all seemed to come from nowhere. How all of it seemed misplaced.

But now Ivan knew it did not come from nowhere, that it was not misplaced. He knew now those boys were afraid of him. As petals flew past his eyes, ripped to shreds and blurred by tears, he knew what they felt was valid. He had held them too close, expected too much- just like he had with Yao. He never wanted to remember his panic when they said they were leaving him and never coming back, when he knew he was alone again like he had been for so long. He never wanted to remember how he had snapped, grabbed that knife out of panic and nearly ended three lives before he realized it was a far better idea to end his own.

He never wanted to remember how the police came and stopped one or two or three or countless tragedies from occurring, how Raivas had screamed when Ivan's neck was bleeding, how Eduard pulled him away, how Toris just followed helplessly behind. He never wanted to remember how it felt to be forced to plead insanity to avoid counts of attempted murder. He never wanted to remember how he ended up in this place, alone and empty, and how none of it was ever a misunderstanding. Ivan never wanted to admit that he was always the one who misunderstood.

And now it was happening again, because Yao never cared about him and neither did they. But it was not their fault. Ivan was the common denominator, because no one besides that man all those years ago had ever loved him, because it was impossible. Of course someone had to have been paying Yao. There was no other way someone so decent, so incredibly normal, would want anything to do with someone like Ivan.

With one last flash of memory and shame, Ivan ripped one last flower from the earth and sank hopelessly to the destroyed ground beneath him. All of it was gone- the flowers, Yao, his old friends, the last bits of denial his sanity had been clinging to. All of it was over, dead, destroyed. At least this time he had not hurt anyone. If he had hurt Yao- even if he had lied- Ivan would never forgive himself. At least this time he had gotten away, and at least this time it was only plants that suffered. Maybe in that sense, all the medication was working. Maybe he was getting better even if he felt worse than he had in years. But if this was recovery, Ivan wanted to be as sick and crazy as he was in the first place.

Slowly, after what felt like years of pulling and ripping and remembering and breaking down, Ivan looked up… and he realized the sunflowers he had planted were still standing.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	12. Chapter 12

Yao could not even pretend he didn't understand how everything fell apart. He wanted to believe it was sudden, unexpected, erratic and a result of bad luck, that he had simply misspoken and it could be easily fixed, but he knew it could never be that easy and simple when it came to Ivan. Everything they had was built on a foundation even more unstable than he was. Yao just didn't think it would crumple around him as quickly as it did- or that it would hurt nearly this much.

When Ivan left him alone in the middle of the lounge, nothing but broken explanations and crushing guilt to keep him company, Yao finally realized that he had been lying to himself. Of course something like this could never work. How he ever convinced himself it would was beyond him. At some point Ivan _had _been a job to him… and that was how it should of stayed. Now, mere weeks after he allowed his guard down, all of it was over, Ivan hated him, and Yao was left to deal with the consequences of his own stupidity and selfishness. For far too long of a moment he only stared down the empty hall, waiting for Ivan to come back, waiting for this mess to somehow fix itself, but of course that never happened.

Yao had no choice but to leave. But he knew he could not stay away for long.

.

Ivan did not remember getting up from his garden. He did not remember his hands being bandaged, did not remember cleaning the dirt from his clothes. He ignored Matthew when he asked- either angry or horrified- why Ivan tore apart the garden, ignored Gilbert when he passed him in the hall, ignored Mathias rambling to Arthur when he entered his room. He did not remember somehow reaching his bed, barely coherent, every breath rattling his chest. He could not even be sure if he fell asleep or not. But he did remember seeing Yao, though he could not be sure whether it was a dream or just a lucid, desperate hallucination. Ivan did not even notice the days passing.

All he could do, whether it was a few days or several decades, was stare at the wall and try, with all the energy he had left, to forget. He could not afford to remember Yao. Remembering him meant remembering being something close to happy, dwelling on something that had been a lie from the beginning. He nearly succeeded in numbing his mind, suppressing his despair. And it was not until Matthew intruded on his silence that that was tested.

"Ivan, you cannot just lay there forever."

Ivan had every intention of doing just that- not because he wanted to, but because moving felt impossibly taxing. There was no point; it was too hard. Besides, he was fairly certain it had only been three days… but he could not be sure. He could not be sure about anything. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, still staring at the ceiling above him, still trying to forget he was alive.

Matthew sighed. "You've made so much progress. Please don't let it all go to waste."

He did not understand. How could he understand, if he thought tricking him into thinking someone cared about him would have a positive outcome? But Ivan did not have the energy to be angry or even to respond. All he had the energy to do was wonder: if he had actually made any progress at all, how much Matthew knew, why Matthew was still trying.

Matthew took a breath and continued evenly, the words falling uselessly on Ivan's unresponsive ears. "I know you won't tell me what happened, but…" He paused as if he was unsure if he should finish. Perhaps he was simply unwilling. "Yao is here."

Once again, Ivan could not breathe. A jolt of pained energy hit so hard he found it in him to sit up, though he still could not look Matthew in the eye. He was afraid of what he would find there- perhaps dishonesty, perhaps desperation, perhaps something else entirely. He spoke against the fabric of his scarf. "Oh." His pulse grew erratic, but this time it was not out of excitement. "Why?"

"What do you mean?" Matthew spoke like he genuinely had no idea, like he was unaware how his arrangement had destroyed Ivan. Or maybe he just didn't care.

Ivan fought back tears, struggled to get out the dreaded question. "Did you pay him?"

"Oh." Matthew's eyes widened. "You… he told you."

Ivan nodded, familiar pain tearing into his chest. He tried to ignore it.

"I don't know exactly what was said, but Ivan, it's much more complicated than I believe you think it is." Matthew spoke quickly, panicked. "But no, I didn't. It's… a long story. We can discuss this-"

"Later. I am aware, Matthew." Ivan did not believe a single word he said. He didn't believe much of anything; right down to every memory he had of Yao. All he believed were his flashbacks, his regrets, his shame. Everything else felt unreal. "I do not wish to see him." It was a lie, but he needed to believe it. It was for the best.

"Well, he's already here." Matthew turned to leave, and Ivan's heart leapt to his throat and filled his ears. No, he could not see him; he could not trust himself to be anywhere near… "Yao?"

Ivan refused to believe it. He blocked it out, denied it, did everything he could to put himself far, far away from Yao's presence. He laid on his side again in a panic, forced his gaze to meet the wall, and stayed perfectly still even though ever fiber of his being was screaming, demanding, pleading that he moved. He couldn't. He simply did not trust himself to.

The careful, audible footsteps pounded through Ivan's ears like gunshots. He git his teeth, tried not to remember, tried not to feel. _Do not turn around. Do NOT… _"Ivan, please talk to me." His voice was too familiar, too gentle and too genuine. Ivan closed his eyes and tried desperately to block it out. This was not real. Yao was not real; he was not actually here… "Can you look at me, at least?"

If only he understood how impossible that was. Ivan could not look at him or even turn around, because he knew the second he did, he would be hit with the overwhelming, unstoppable urge to hug him, kiss him. He would want to hold on forever and never let go, just like he had with his old friends, and now he knew Yao was equally as unwilling. Memory hit and Ivan squeezed his eyes tighter; bit back the urge to cry. This was for the best. This was for the best…

"I'm sorry." Yao had gotten closer. That much was obvious. He was entirely too close now, so close Ivan could sense him standing over him, torturing him, suffocating him like he was ten feet underwater. He tried again to convince himself none of this was real as Yao sighed and continued to speak in that wonderful, agonizing voice. "Ivan, you haven't even allowed me to explain."

Ivan began to wonder why Yao was even bothering. Had lying to him not been enough? Did he just want to upset him? He was tempted to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe; Yao really did care. That it had not all been a façade. That maybe, by some miracle, things could work between them. Ivan bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. No, he could not afford to do this. The wall in front of him blurred and he had no choice but to close his eyes again. He wanted to disappear, to erase reality, to leave his body just like he had in the past. Sickening dread set in when he realized he couldn't.

"Please." If the pleading way Yao said the word was not enough, his light touch on Ivan's shoulder certainly was. The warmth of his hand burned like hot coals, but at the same time sent cold, excruciating despair into Ivan's chest like daggers. It got to be too much. Ivan knew he could not fight this for very much longer, and he was so, so afraid of what would happen if he lost. So he lurched out his touch, missed the small amount of comfort it brought immediately, and felt almost no relief. He only felt relief- though it was coupled with much stronger hopelessness- when he heard Yao step backwards. "Ivan?" His voice broke on the word, and Ivan nearly did, too. But he did not give in. He stayed facing the wall, eyes closed, heart pounding, until he was sure Yao had left.

Yao tried two more times to visit, and twice Ivan was forced to pretend he was not there. No matter how torturous it was, he made himself pretend it did not feel like being cut open, pretend he was not suffocated by the burning need to whip around, embrace him as tightly as possible, and never, ever let him go. Because Ivan knew, somewhere in the back of his ruined, torn apart mind, that he had no choice. This was for the best, because he could not take the chance. He could not trust himself enough not to put Yao in danger.

Ivan barely felt the days passing. He did not notice the days turning to weeks and the weeks turning to months. When fall faded into winter, he did not feel the cold. Ivan barely thought about leaving this place anymore. Now, there was no reason for him to get out.

.

Eventually, Yao had no choice but to give up.

After attempting to see Ivan three times and after three times of failing to get a single word out of him, he knew he had reached that point. Ivan was not even the same person. He was not the same, and somehow, Yao knew it was his fault. He wanted, desperately, to go back for a forth time. The need to do absolutely anything he could to fix things was overwhelming. But he stayed away, partially because a small part of him had already accepted the situation was unfixable, but mostly for Ivan's sake, because he had hurt him enough already. Yao was done being selfish.

The first month was strange. It was punctuated by failed visits, and at first, the pain was slight, unconscious. Yao adjusted to things being ordinary and unexciting again, learned how to get through the week without something to look forward to. Life without the promise of seeing Ivan in a certain number of days was just that- strange. Yao went through weeks immersing himself in his work, not thinking about Ivan, not thinking about Kiku, not thinking about much of anything. But that did not last.

The second month was melancholic. Before long, he found himself fixating on what could have been if only he had said something or not said something or got Ivan to listen for just a second longer, if only he could forget his resolve and try again to reason with him. He found himself wondering how Ivan was doing, if he was angry, if he was devastated, if he was thinking about Yao, if he was managing to hold himself together. Hopefully he was doing fine, with any luck he had not acted out again. Yao had no way to tell. It ate at him, to the point he had to sit down or get out of his office or find something, anything to distract himself from the ache in his chest.

But the third month, a cold, grey December, was entirely too painful to be comfortable anymore. Yao thought of Ivan more often than he didn't, and he would remember his gentle smile, his warm laugh, his strong touch and his childlike passion for just about everything. He would remember how the last few times he tried to see him, all of that was gone. How he would not even look at him. He would look around the white walls of his office and remember the one person who managed to break up the monotony and give Yao a reason to get through the week. He tried to ignore the obvious, what was making him feel this way. He tried to force it away, to avoid it, to go through mental gymnastics to deny it. But in the end, he couldn't. Yao knew full well that he loved Ivan. He loved him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He could not stop it or act on it because he had ruined everything, and it was ruined right from it start.

But there was not much time to dwell on it, because around a week before Christmas, a call from Matthew shattered everything.

"Yao, do you have a moment? I have a few things to tell you."

Yao held the phone to his ear and sighed. He was not even sure why he bothered to pick up. What could Matthew possibly have to tell him- that Ivan was so crushed by what happened that all his progress had been erased? That Matthew wanted Yao to come help him ruin someone else's life? "What is it, Dr. Williams?" It sounded entirely too snippy, but Yao didn't care. He didn't care about much of anything these days, actually. "Look, Ivan and I are…" He did not finish his sentence, partially because he did not know how, partially because it hurt too much.

Matthew's response was immediate and unexpected. "It's not Ivan."

"It isn't?" Now Yao was really confused. "What is it, then?"

"I just thought I should tell you…" Matthew broke off with a long, trembling breath. He sounded close to crying. "Heracles Karpusi died last night."

"Heracles…" Yao had to consider the name for a moment, the past months having thoroughly muddled his mind. When it finally hit, however, it hit like a falling building. Heracles Karpusi- the man with sleepy green eyes and an unfathomable cat obsession, the man who was a terminal heart failure patient. The man Kiku was completely, undeniably, terrifying in love with. Yao's stomach turned cold. "Oh my god." Just like that, every selfish thought left his mind. "Is Kiku okay? How is he taking it?"

"He's fine right now, but I'm completely certain it just hasn't set in yet. He's in denial." Matthew sighed. "And Yao, I'm terrified of what will happen when it hits him."

Yao was scared, too. No, he was absolutely _petrified. _"Okay," he said, his voice strained. He made a mental note to visit Kiku as soon as humanly possible, no matter how little they had been speaking and how much he had hurt him. Yao knew he had ruined just about every personal relationship he had, but he could damn well be there for his brother. He refused to mess that up, too. Hopefully Kiku would want to see him. "I will speak with him."

"Please do," said Matthew. "Well, I suppose I'll let you be-"

"Wait." Yao said it without thinking, without knowing where he was going with this. "How has Ivan been doing?" No matter how little he thought about the words, they hardly shocked him. That question had been haunting him for months.

"Oh." Matthew sounded surprised. "I thought you two were no longer speaking."

"We aren't." And Yao was caught between wanting to do everything he could to change that and wanting to forget Ivan had existed in his life at all. Still, he said, "But I want to know." Really, he did not _want _to know. He _needed _to know.

"Are you sure?"

And that was all it took. Yao knew, without a glimmer of doubt, that Ivan was doing worse than he could possibly imagine. He put a hand on his desk to steady himself, concentrating only on breathing. "Is he really that bad?"

"I'm afraid so." Matthew sighed again, sounding exhausted. Yao genuinely felt bad for him. "I just… I don't know what to do anymore. I thought bringing you in would help and it did for a while, but all it did in the end was made everything a thousand times worse for everyone involved. I'm sorry, Yao. I never should have dragged you into this."

"Please, do not apologize. It's fine. Really." Maybe things were far from fine and maybe Yao had a nearly unending list of regrets to deal with, but if there was one thing he did not regret, it was being 'dragged into this.' For a short period of time, Ivan had made him feel happier and more fulfilled than he had in years. And to him, that was worth it. Another wave of memory hit and Yao distracted himself by speaking. "I wish you luck."

"Thank you," said Matthew quietly. "Well, I suppose I should check on him soon. All he seems to do is sit in that garden."

Yao looked up and out a nearby window. Not only had the winter chill hit full force, but it had snowed about five inches the night prior. "He sits outside?" he asked, incredulous. "But it's freezing."

"Believe me, I know. He just doesn't want to come inside," said Matthew. "Honestly, I think I owe it to him to let him stay."

"I… suppose." Yao tried and failed to will away the image of Ivan, cold and alone, sitting in that blasted garden from his mind. He swallowed thickly and stared at the wall, white and lifeless, just like everything else. "Please make sure he's alright."

"I will." There was a break in conversation, as if neither of them knew what to say. Matthew broke the silence. "I have one more thing to tell you."

Yao could not even pretend he was anything less than terrified. He was already juggling two disasters. There was no way he could handle another. "What would that be?"

"Oh, it's nothing serious." Matthew sounded flippant enough, but Yao hardly trusted his tone. "I was just looking through Ivan's file, and I saw that his birthday is coming up. It's the thirtieth of this month, actually. I just thought you might want to know."

For a moment Yao was convinced that he did not want to know. But within seconds, he realized that he did. A fire erupted in his gut when he made a decision, one that was just as necessary as it was inane. "I see," he said. "Thank you for telling me."

The conversation ended, and Yao knew exactly what he had to do. First, he had to check in on Kiku and do his best to help him through all of this. It was high time he stopped being a terrible brother. The next thing he had to do was just as necessary, but about a thousand times more daunting a task- he had to make sure Ivan had a happy birthday. And he would do it if it killed him.

.

Yao was certain he had never been this nervous. This was not the same nervousness as the first time he visited or even the day after the blackout, because this time, he had absolutely everything to lose. He knew it was an all or nothing situation- either Ivan would finally acknowledge him and maybe, just maybe, they would take a step in the right direction, or he would shun him just like he had before. And Yao knew this was his final chance. His hands shook as he made his way into the building, and he could not blame it entirely on the snow falling around him.

How quiet the psychiatric ward was had gotten to be expected. Still, the eerie silence chilled Yao more thoroughly than the bitter cold outside ever had. He searched instinctively for Ivan, for any indication that this would go better than he partially expected it would. Of course, he did not see Ivan. Only Matthew. This time, there was no time for greetings or casualties. "Is Ivan outside again?" The chill only intensified when he said his name.

Matthew nodded, keeping his gaze low. "Always." He sounded far away, preoccupied. "You're here to see him, I'm guessing."

Yao straightened his shoulders and attempted to speak evenly. "I am." He took a deep breath, attempted to stop his heart from pounding painfully fast in his chest. It was in vain. "How is he today?"

"About the same."

"Oh." Yao wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He felt frozen to the spot, either unwilling or simply unable to move from it. He was not ready to face reality, but at the same time he was beyond tired of avoiding it. "I guess I'll get going."

Matthew smiled at him slightly, tiredly. "Good luck."

Yao was entirely certain he would need that luck. "Thank you." If only to stall, he held eye contact with Matthew for just a second too long. A clock ticked away in the distance, a gust of wind sent a flurry of snow spiraling past the window. Finally, after a moment that felt like a year, Yao turned towards the door and walked out into the cold.

Every step might as well have been a mile. Yao kept his eyes on his shoes, watching footprints mark the white, until he finally found it in him to lift his gaze. His heart leapt, sunk, twisted when he took in the scene in front of him. Instead of endless rows of color in neat, perfect order, he saw only destruction. Snow covered dirt was spewed in every direction. Dead petals lied around his feet, stems tossed far away from the beds, all of it looking violent and nothing seeming accidental. Everything was white, grey, dead. Yao let his gaze wander until his eyes caught color- a tan scarf, whipping around a red-flushed face, staring down at something that was once yellow.

"Ivan?" He spoke in a puff of white, shattered the looming silence, took a few steps closer. He was not surprised when he was not met with a response, but he continued forward anyway. He had already made it this far. He was past the point of no return. He walked until Ivan was right in front of him, kneeling in the snow with his glassed over eyes fixed on the decaying flowers in front of him. It did not take long to recognize them as sunflowers.

"I did not pick them in time."

Ivan's voice sent shock waves through Yao's chest. It had been so long since he'd heard it. He stared at him, at his blank expression, and tried to find a clue as to what he might be feeling. He found nothing. Any bit of logic he had left flew from his mind, and he was only able to say one thing. "What do you mean?"

"The sunflowers." Ivan lifted a hand and motioned towards the wilted stems, hanging limp towards the ground. "I was supposed to pick them, before winter set in. But I failed." His voice was flat, but his eyes were beginning to fog up. "Now they are dead."

"Ivan, it's okay." Yao debated if he should touch him, what else he could say. Maybe he should just leave. But of course he could not do that, because Ivan was speaking to him. That was further than he had gotten in months. Still, nothing else felt right to say.

Before any words came to him, Ivan reached a trembling hand into the dirt and took a handful of dried petals into his palm. He turned on his knees, held out his hands and finally, after what felt like a lifetime without seeing his eyes, looked up. Yao could only see piercing violet. "They were for you…" Something broke. Ivan looked into his hands, his blank expression faltered, and he dissolved into tears.

Yao's chest lurched in sudden, intense pain. At a loss of what else to do, he sunk slowly, carefully to the ground. Shocks shot across his skin as Ivan pulled him into a desperate embrace, surrounded him with strong arms, practically lifting him off the ground and into his lap in his frenzy. He held him like he was terrified to let go. When Yao realized he was just as scared he threw his arms around his shoulders, the urge to touch him burning and frantic, tears now threatening to flood his own eyes. Finally he was back where he belonged, where he wanted to be. Relief flooded through him as he remembered nearly losing this. But Ivan was still crying, his shoulders still shaking in uncontrollable sobs, as if a lifetime worth of emotion had hit at once. Yao hardly doubted it. "Oh, Ivan…" He spoke into his hair, moved his hands to his back. "It's alright. I'm here with you."

"I must be dreaming." Ivan spoke quietly, his voice thick. "You are not real."

"I'm very real." Yao did not realize he was crying until the tears turned cold on his cheeks, mixing with melting snowflakes and falling on too-warm skin. "I'm real, Ivan. I'm right here."

"You are being paid, then." Ivan's shaking words fell against Yao's shoulder, his hands tensing on his back. "Matthew must have… someone must have…" His voice faded out into yet more tears, rough and heavy.

"No, Ivan, listen to me." Yao dropped his arms, touched Ivan's chin and guided it upwards. "You are not a job to me, do you understand?" His voice wavered but he ignored it. He ran his hands down Ivan's hair, not dropping his gaze, tears likely still falling but his skin too numb and cold to feel them. "I'm here because I care about you. I care about you entirely too much." One last sentence danced on his tongue, one he had been wanting to say for far too long and feeling for even longer. Yao threw caution to the wind. "I love you." Ivan's eyes widened at that, and Yao wiped his tears with unsteady hands because he could not bear to see them. He lost the ability to control his words. "I love you, oh god, I love you, please stop crying, it hurts far too much to see you cry like this-"

But speaking was suddenly unnecessary, because Ivan was kissing him. Then nothing else mattered- not how this started, not how it nearly ended, not the past three months or any other time in the past or future or the fact that Yao was freezing in this damn cold. All that mattered was this moment, this reunion right here in the middle of the snow. An eternity passed like this, with tears and sweet nothings, trembling hands grasping unsteady shoulders, as though they both held the warmth the other desperately needed. "Please," said Yao, moments after pulling back, "tell me what's wrong."

Ivan's eyes were still bleary, still uncertain. "You will hate me," he said. "I have… done things, Yao. Bad things."

"That's okay." Yao was nervous, sure, but that hardly mattered. He wanted to know, wanted to help. "I will not hate you." He was completely certain about that.

Ivan took a long, rough breath, and for a moment there was only silence and falling snow. It melted on Yao's hair, on his face, numbed his uncovered hands, but he did not want to get up. There was nowhere he would rather be. Instead, he slid his hands under a layer of Ivan's scarf, and he waited. It felt like an eternity. But when it passed, Ivan pulled him against his chest, rested his chin on his shoulder, and spoke without pausing. Yao stayed completely still, heart pounding, as a trembling description of Ivan's life passed by his ears.

Yao knew that logically, what Ivan told him should have been shocking. But if anything it only felt like an explanation. All of what he said- from what ended his friendship with the young men he called 'The Baltics,' to the scars inflicted by the man from his childhood, to his gut-wrenching, horrifying recollections of self-inflicted pain- felt strangely _logical_, all things considered_. _That did not make it any easier to hear. Yao fought back tears as Ivan relived it all right beneath him, and he did his best to understand, did his best to hold both of them together though every word sent piecing pain through his chest. It was the very least he could do. Still, he could not stop himself from picturing everything he was told at rapid-fire speed, from thinking how disgustingly unfair it all was. Ivan did not deserve it. God, he did not deserve any of it.

Once Ivan finally finished, his shoulders loosened and his shallow breath came easier, as if a physical weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you for listening." He sounded breathless, exhausted.

"Oh, Ivan." Yao shook his head, either unable to believe it all or simply unwilling. He held him tighter and scrambled for the right words, for absolutely anything that would make this better, maybe even fix it, but he gave up when he realized those words did not exist. All he could find was, "I'm so sorry." It was a weak, disposable reaction, but it was all he could manage. He wondered only momentarily if he should ask questions, delve further into things, do _something…_but deep down he knew this was not the time. Yao stayed quiet. Perhaps simply being here was enough for now.

Ivan said nothing for a moment. Then, he slowly guided Yao off his lap and rose to his feet. "Do not be sorry. Is all over now." He looked towards the white sky, a few snowflakes melting on his eyelids as he closed them. "It is over now," he said again, likely only for himself. When he opened his eyes again, they contained the spark of life they were meant to have. He smiled for the first time in ages, took a deep breath and held out his hand. "We must get out of this cold."

Yao nodded, took his hand, and followed.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


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